



I) A N I P: L B tj O N E , 



DANIEL BOONE, 



AND THE 



HUNTEES OF KENTUCKY. 



BY W. H. BOGART 



Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends: 

The desert — forest — cavern — 

Were unto him comj;>anioQship. — ChUde Harold, 



NEW YOEK: 
0. M. SAXTON, 25 PARK ROW 
1859. 






ttaiertd according to Act Of Oongress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and 
flfly-four, hj 

MILLER, OETON & MULLIGAN, 
In fhe CJlerk's Offlcs of the District Court of the Northern District of New York, 



/:?' 



PREFACE. 



Interwoven with the history of the entrance of the Great 
West into the family of civilized nations, is the career of 
Daniel Boone. It has been the object of the compiler of this 
volume to present the narrative of that career in fidelity, and 
in such light as would rescue the memory of this great man 
from the common judgment passed upon him, of being only 
an Indian fighter and a bold hunter. 

To Daniel Boone, the Great Pioneer of the West — having 
ever a purpose and a destiny before him — this volume in- 
vites the reader. 

The compiler has been greatly aided by the admirable 
work of Mr. Peck — so accurate and impartial — preserved 
in the collection of American Biographies by Jared Sparks ; 
by McClung's Sketches of Western Adventure ; by the ex 
cellent local Histories of Kentucky, collated with such Indus 
try and care by Mr. Lewis Collins; and by the admirable 
Address of Gov. Morehead, delivered at Boonesborough. 

If the perusal of this volume shall elicit a deeper and a 



IV 



PREFACE. 



more diffused gratitude for the memory of the Maii who, 
when he was master of a vast territory committed no op 
pression, and when he was deprived of every acfe uttered 
no murmur — who fought only to defend, and subdued only 
to yield up to his country — it will have accomplished the 
object of its compiler. 



\ 4 




CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 



Introduction. — ^Ancestry of Daniel Boone the pioneer. — Home 
of his ancestors. — Emigration of George Boone from England 
and settlement in Pennsylvania. — Birth of Daniel.— Lineage. 
— Sohool"boy days. — His love for forest life. — The boy 
hunter. — Removal of Squire Boone, the father of Daniel, 
to North Carolina 18 



CHAPTER n. 

New home in the old North State. — Marriage of Daniel 
Boone to Rebecca Bryan. — Boone, with his bride crosses 
the valley of the Yadkin, and builds his cabin. — Other 
settlers. — Boone shuns society. — Determined to remove 
west of the mountains. — De Soto — Indian tribes. — Prevail- 
ing ignorance of the country west of the mountains. — 
Character of Boone. — An incident of his old age. — The 
Colonial system. — Its results, i1 



CHAPTER III. 

John Finley's visit to Tennessee in 11 61. — ^Dr. "Walker's ex- 
pedition. — Boone's visit to the Holston River. — Boone and 
five others move west of the Cumberland Mountains.— 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAoa 
Boone's "wife. — Filson's life of Boone.-^Boone and Stewart 
taken prisoners by the Indians. — Escape. — They find their 
companions gone. — Boone and Stewart remain alone. — The 
narrative. — Indian treaties. — Fate of Finley. — Squire Boone 
arrives. — Death of Stewart. — Boone and his brother pass 
the winter alone in the woods. — Squire Boone returns to 
Korth Carolina for supplies, 44 



CHAPTER IV. 

Boone alone in the wilderness. — Deprivation. — His own nar- 
rative. — ^His brother returns with supplies and horses.^ 
News from his family. — Extract from Governor Morehead's 
address. — The two brothers explore tlie country, and de- 
termine to locate upon the Kentucky River. — ^They return 
home. — Wonder of his neighbors at seeing Daniel. — They 
are deterred from emigrating by fear of the Indians. — 
Daniel and Squire Boone, with their families, remove to 
Kentucky, 19 



CHAPTER V. 

ITie journey. — ^FivQ families and forty men join the Boones 
at Powell's Valley. — A party of the emigrants are attacked 
by Indians. — Boone's son and five others killed. — The com- 
pany turn back to the settlements on the Clinch River. — 
The Long Hunters. — Virginia grants land in Kentucky to 
the soldiers of the French War. — ^They learn the charac- 
ter of the land from Boone. — Lord Dunmore orders a sur- 
vey. — The expedition. — Boone's reports confirmed. — Herds 
of buffalo; — Surveyors reach the present location of Har- 
rodsburg and Louisville. — Lord Dunmore sends for Boone. 
-—Rescue of the surveyors, 87 



CONTENTS. Vn. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Boone and Stoner penetrate the wilderness eight hundred 
miles, to the Falls of the Ohio. — ^They find the party of 
James Harrod, and warn them of Indian hostilities. — Lord 
Dunmore assigns Boone to a military command. — ^Battle of 
Point Pleasant. — Boone returns to his family. — Fertility 
and beauty of the "West. — Richard Henderson. — His project 
of a colony. — Boone is sent on a mission to the Indians by 
Lord Dunmore. — ^His success. — Boone employed to open a 
road from the Holston to the Kentucky River. — Hostility 
of the Indians. — ^Letter to Colonel Henderson 106 



CHAPTER VII. 

Boone and his company build a fort. — He removes his fam- 
ily to it. — Other families remove to the fort. — Arrival of 
Henderson. — Boonesborough. — Transylvania Land Com- 
pany. — Other settlements. — ^The first Legislature. — Boone 
a Delegate. — John Floyd, — Henderson's address. — ^Boone as 
a Legislator. — ^Divine service. — Colonel Callaway's family 
arrives. — ^The Indians capture three girls. — ^The pursuit ajid 
the rescue. — The Indians attack other posts. — Indian mode 
of warfare. — ^The war with Great Britain. — Alarm of the 
settlers. — Return of many of them, 123 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The revolutionary war. — Harassed by the Indians. — General 
Clarke's journal. — Military force of the settlements. — Hen- 
derson's land titles. — ^The compromise. — ^The settlers' peti- 
tion to be taken under the protection of Virginia. — The In- 
dians attack 'Boonesborough fort and are repulsed. — Attack 
renewed by greater numbers. — The whites again success- 
ful. — Reinforcements arrive. — News arrives of Washing- 
ton's victorv over Howe, 14S 



Vm CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER IX. 

PAaa 

General George R. Clarke. — Virginia grants powder to the 

Colony. — The British garrisons at Detroit, Vincennes and 
Kaskaskia. — General Clarke secures the aid of Boone. — 
Simon Kenton. — His captivity and cruel treatment by the 
Indians — His rescue. — The anticipated reiinion of the sur- 
vivors. — The old age of Kenton. — ^An Indian attack. — 
Boone is wounded and narrowly escapes. — Boone's daring, 
and services to the emigrants. — Boone, with thirty men, 
plans an expedition to the Blue Licks, 160 



CHAPTER X. 

The Blue Licks. — The expedition. — Boone's adventure with 
two Indians. — ^I'he Indians plan an attack. — Boone is taken 
prisoner while hunting. — His party surrender and are 
spared through his influence. — Boone is afterwai'ds tried 
by a court-martial and honorably acquitted. — Boone and 
his companions are taken to Old Chillicothe. — Thence to 
Detroit. — Regard of the English for Boone. — The Indians 
refuse a large ransom. — ^They return to Old Chillicothe 
with Boone alone. — ^They adopt him into their tribe.— 
They set him to making salt, and permit him to hunt, .... 176 



CHAPTER XI. 

Affairs at Boonesborough. — Boone's wife returns to North 
Carolina. — Boone returns from the Salt Licks to Chillico- 
the. — He finds the Indians preparing an expedition against 
Boonesborough. — Boone makes his escape, and arrives at 
the fort. — He hastily repairs the fort. — Boone's expedition 
to Paint Creek. — Defeat of the Indians. — Return of the 
party. — Arrival of a large body of Indians, led by Captain 
Du Quesne. — ^The garrison summoned to surrender, 196 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XII. 

PAGK. 

Boone obtains two days to consider the summons to STiiren- 
der.-=-He refuses to surrender. — Further negotiations out- 
side the fort. — Treachery of the Indians. — Squire Boone 
wounded. — Nine days' siege commences. — The Indians 
retreat. — Boone's great shot. — His daughter. — The siege 
and the defence. — Cause of Kenton's absence. — Boone is 
tried by a court-martial, and honorably acquitted, .,,,..., 214 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Results of the war. — A retrospect. — Boone visits his family 
in North Carolina. — Emigration to the West increases. — 
Land office established. — Commissioners to settle soldiers' 
land claims. — Governor Shelby. — Great activity in the sur- 
veying of land. — Boone is robbed of a large sum of money. 
— Its effect on Boone. — The land law, 23) 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Boone returns to Boonesborough with his family. — ^The Bri- 
tish and Indians contemplate a bold attack on Kentucky. 
— Anecdote of Randolph. — Governor Morehead's history 
of Boonesborough — Boone and his brother go to the Blue 
Licks. — His brother is shot by Indians. — Boone is pursued 
and escapes. — The cold winter of 1780. — Organization of 
counties. — Indian hostilities renewed. — ^The British Gov- 
ernment and the Indians. — The renegades Girty and Mc- 
Kee. — Constant alarms of the settlers. — ^The confederated 
Indians. — Boone again afflicted in the death of Bryant,. . 245 



CHAPTER XV. 

The attack on Bryant's Station. — ^The retreat of the Indians. 
—Rally of the settlers.— The council— The pursuit.— Th« 
A* 



CONTENTS. 

TAQM, 

ambuscade. — Battle of the Blue Licks. — Terrible slaughter 
and retreat of the settlers — ^Another of Boone's sons slain. 
— ^Todd, Trigg, Harlan, and sixty-seven others slain.— 
Boone's account. — A thrilling incident. — Boone's report of 
the battle. — Col. Thomas Marshall and Girty's brother, .... 271 



CHAPTER XVI. 

General Clarke. — His campaign against the Indians at Old 
Chillicothe. — Narrative of Boone's escape from four In- 
dians. — ^The paper currency. — Courts of law instituted. — 
Boone establishes himself on a farm. — ^The return of peace. 
— Increase of emigration. — ^The Indians. — Their love for 
rum. — ^Their petition. — ^The Indians at the present day, . . . 298 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Indian hostilities renewed. — ^The numerous Conventions rela- 
tive to the formation of a State. — John Marshall — Ken- 
tucky admitted into the Union as a State in 1791. — Boone's 
difficulties relative to the title to his lands. — He loses his 
farm. — Narrative of the escape of Downing and Yates from 
the Indians. — The brave Kentuckians. — Escape of Mr. 
Rowan and family. — ©oone's visit to his birth-place. — His 
hardships in the loss of his lands, . . .'..'• . • 812 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Boone's influence over the Indians. — Services in procuring an 
exchange of prisoners. — He removes to Virginia. — Resumes 
hunting. — His habits. — His residence in Virginia, — He con- 
templates removing to Upper Louisiana. — Gen. "Wayne's 
victories over the Indians. — Boone looks to the West, .... 884 



002!n:^NTS. XI 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Boone emigrates with his family to Missouri. — ^The journey. 
— Spanish possession of the territory. — Injustice to Boone's 
social character. — Boone is welcomed to Missouri by the 
Lieutenant Governor. — Arrival at St. Louis of Laclede and 
Choteaii. — Boone receives an appointment from the author- 
ities. — He is presented with a large tract of land by the 
Lieutenant Governor. — He neglects to go to New Orleans 
to get his grant confirmed, 846 



CHAPTER XX. 

The vicissitudes of Boone's life. — Sale of Louisiana to the 
United States. — Boone revisits Kentucky. — He pays oflf 
his creditors. — Returns home. — The solitary hunter. — Ex- 
posure to danger as a trapper. — His hunting excursion to 
the Osage River. — He is again deprived of his land by land 
commissioners. — His education. — ^His children, 869 



CHAPTER XXL 

Kentucky as a Commonwealth. — Boone's memorial to the 
Legislature and to Congress. — The just response of Ken- 
tucky. — Death of Mrs. Boone. — Boone's treatment at the 
hands of Congress. — General Lafayette's reception. — ^The 
contrast. — The old age of Boone. — His children. — Boone a 
hunter at eighty-two. — Anecdote. — Harding's portrait — 
Sickness of Boone. — His death. — ^A retrospect, S71 



CHAPTER XXn. 

Kentucky then and now. — "Washington, Lafayette, Boone, 
and Harrison. — ^The Legislature of Kentucky cause the re- 
mains of Boone to be removed to Frankfort — The public 
honors. — John J. Crittendei —Conclusion, 884 



ap COHTENTB. 

THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY. 

PAOB. 

Simon Kenton, ...... 391 

Jo Daviess, ...... 407 

Bland Ballard, ...... 4l7 

John Hardin, .••••• 426 

Benjamin Logan, . , . • . . 434 

William Russell, . . . • . 448 

Silas Harlan, , , . , « . 458 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



CHAPTEE I. 

INTRODUCTION ANCESTRY OF DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER HOMB OF HIS 

ANCESTORS EMIGRATION OF GEORGE BOONE FROM ENGLAND, AND SET- 
TLEMENT IN PENNSYLVANIA BIRTH OF DANIEL LINEAGE SCHOOL-BOY 

DAYS HIS LOVE FOR FOREST LIFE ^ THE BOY- HUNTER REMOVAL OF 

SQUIRE BOONE, THE FATHER OF DANIEL, TO NORTH CAROLINA. 

If it be fame, that in the progress of a great empire, 
one name above all others shall be associated with 
its deliverance from the dominion of the savage — 
with the first step of enterprise — with the grasp of 
civilization upon the domain before it — then this in- 
heritance is that of the subject of this memoir — 
Daniel Boone. It was his to lead a nation to its 
place of power, and the memories of that nation can- 
not find more grateful use, than in the treasuring to- 
gether of the incidents of his career. He knew no 
tame or commonplace existence, but lived on, in a 
series of wild and vivid experiences. His life is in 
the annals of the forest chivalry that only America 
has placed before the observation of mankind, — and 
m all the stirring records of the bold and daring— 



14 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

the determined and the adventurous, the first place is 
his by the consent of the historian. 

It is ever to those who seek to illustrate the career 
of such men, a thought of regret, that themselves 
were careless of their own biography — not dreaming, 
while they performed great deeds, that to the world 
that was to come after them, every incident would be, 
in all its detail, of value. They were more solicitous 
to make the present a distinct and determined reality, 
than to take care of the future — and thus they deem- 
ed the deed done in its own doing, and cared not who 
heard, or admired, or recorded. 

Especially is this true of men of the Border. They 
took the powder horn and left the ink horn at home — 
and like all men of true courage, they cared not to be 
the historians of their own exploits. It is such charac- 
teristics of the western rover — above all of Daniel 
Boone — that imposes upon their annalist the most 
difficult, as it must be the most discriminating of du- 
ties, in weaving a narrative of facts and not of fancies. 

The home of his immediate ancestor was in one of 
the fairest and pleasantest of the gentle garden-lands 
of England. Devonshire, in its richness of cultiva- 
tion, its crowded population, its immediate contiguity 
to the comforts and advantages of an old society — in 
its peaceful exemption from the sound or alarm of 
war — was in singular contrast to the scenes to which 
the emigration from Bradninch, near Exeter, of Greorge 



SETTLEMENT EST PENNSYLVANIA. 15 

Boone was to introduce his descendants. It was a 
Bcliool, of all others, least adapted to furnish material 
for the formation of character of the adventurous 
borderer ; and when the gentle slopes and rich pas- 
tures and quiet and cultured farms and fields of Dev- 
onshire sent to America this group of emigrants, the 
keenest prophet of future destiny could not have 
imagined a change .more extraordinary than was to 
be wrought in the future of this family. 

Arriving in this country, he selected as his home, 
that part of Pennsylvania which is now the county 
of Berks, and became a large landholder. The honors 
of the possession of a great area of territory, which 
in his own country he could not acquire, the circum- 
stances of the new land to which he had come, made 
it easy, and he availed himself of the position, by pur- 
chasing a large estate in the locality where he had 
settled, and in the neighboring States of Maryland 
and Yirginia. He had need of all these possessions, 
for he brought with him from Devonshire a family 
of nine sons and ten daughters. 

There was a touch of the character of his famous 
grandson about him, in considering England too 
crowded for the comfort of such a family as that 
which clustered about him. In that day, 1717, the 
colonies of Pennsylvania and Maryland and Yirginia 
were a field with space and verge enough for all those 
who sought to give their children a capacious home. 



16 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

One of the children of George Boone bore the very 
American name of " Sqnire," so often affixed in the 
progress of judicial honor, bnt seldom, even in the 
fanciful variety of our nomenclature, finding its way 
to the baptismal font. He settled in Bucks county 
in the same State, and married Sarah Morgan. Like 
his father, he raised a very large family ; and it is 
curious to observe that it was not till he had, in Israel 
and Jonathan, and Samuel and Daniel, and George 
and Edward, drawn extensively upon the scriptural 
and fanciful designations of mankind, that he invest- 
ed his seventh and last son with his own quaint title 
of Squire. 

He became a resident of Bucks county. Tlie vi- 
cinity of the Delaware was attractive to the emigrant, 
who had that richest country " all before him where 
to choose." It had been selected by Penn as one of 
the great avenues to the ocean, on which enterprise 
must be successful. The observation of each hour in 
this day shows how true was the sagacity of those 
fathers of the country, who distinctly felt that the homes 
they secured would soon be surrounded by busy men. 

Daniel Boone was born 11th February, 1736, while 
his father resided near Bristol, on the right bank of 
the Delaware, about twenty miles from Philadelphia 
■ — inheriting from his parents that, in comparison 
with which all other inheritances are faint and feeble 
in worth — a constitution insuring longevity, a frame 



LINEAGE. 17 

fitted for the long career of toil and exertion and des- 
perate adventure, and sad suffering which awaited it. 
And that this physical good was a characteristic of 
this remarkable family,^ it is a record of value to ob- 
serve that while Boone's father attained the age of sev- 
enty-six years, the united ages of his six brothers and 
sisters amounted to the great aggregate of ^ve hundred 
and sixteen years. Three years the junior of George 
"Washington, his destiny in the formation of a country 
for the future development of free institutions, had 
kindred features. 

When he was at the age of three, his father re- 
moved to Reading, in Berks county. It is difficult 
to realize that the important and flourishing city, the 
centre of one of the richest and most thickly settled 
counties of the great Commonwealth, was at a period 
which is yet imperfectly passing into history^ a frontier 
border settlement, where the watchfulness and vigil- 
amce of the inhabitants were keenly exercised in 
guarding their homes against the attacks of the ma- 
rauding Indian. It was a revelation to the hoy Boone, 
of the future of his life. The conversations of his 
childhood were the strategy of the savage — and the 
development of his mind was formed into the pattern 
in which its boldest pursuit was moulded. It is doubt- 
less literally true, that the Indian and his^ incidents 
w^ere the household words his tongue earliest formed. 

Concerning his lineage, whether he was of descent 

2 



18 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

from the Boones who were of the Society of Friends, 
an ingenious and able genealogical controversy has 
been had ; and the arguments on either side have been 
so clear, so fortified with array of name and date, 
that it has been most difficult to decide. * It is very 
singular that of one almost contemporaneous with the 
seniors of this generation, so much doubt should ex- 
ist. It arises from the complete seclusion and obscu- 
rity in which his earlier years, from youth to manhood, 
were passed, and from the cause that he was utterly 
unconscious, except at last, of the value of his own 
biography. One of the most elaborate reviews of 
this question has been made by John F. Watson, of 
Philadelphia, whose contributions to the historical 
annals of Pennsylvania and !N^ew-York have been 
very valuable. A note from him is subjoined. It 

* At a meeting of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, held 
at Philadelphia on the 6th instant, Mr. Thomas Biddle, Ji*., the Sec- 
retary, read a letter in relation to the Boone family. He state<J 
that a number of early records of that family recently came into 
Lis hands, one of which gives an account of the Boone family. It 
states they left a town eight miles from Exeter, England, in lll'j. 
It names Squire Boone as a son of the immigrant, and father of DanieL 
The letter of Mr. Biddle further states, that it is an entire mistake 
that the family originally belonged to the Society of Friends; that 
the papers prove they were Episcopalians; that he (Mr. B.) learned 
verbally from his half-sister, Miss Boone, who died in 1846, aged 
75, that George Boone, on his arrival in 1717, purchased and settled 
in what was then Berks county, and laid out a town, naming it 
Exeter. He also purchased land in different places, seme as far south 
as North Carolina, and that he purchased and laid out Georgetown, 



LINEAGE. 19 

may well be, judging from the tone of calmness and 
placidity which were so marked in the character ot 
Boone, that he, by association or education, had known 
the peaceful associations of the domestic life of the 
Friends. He may have found these traits of the ut- 
most service. Indeed, though this is anticipating, it 
will most impress the close student of the simple an- 
nals of the great man, that in the midst of a border 
life of commingling in and exposure to scenes of pred- 
atory warfare, he seemed to have possessed no desire 
whatever to stir up strife or provoke a contest. The 
subjoined extract throws light on it : 

" The first of the family of the Boone's were Friends, en- 
rolled and recorded in the record of the monthly meetings 
at Gwynne meeting, — then called North Wales, in Mont- 
gomery Co., Penn., to wit, 1717, 31st of 10th mo., George 
Boone, senior, (the grandfather of Col. Daniel Boone) pro- 
duced a certificate of his good life and conversation, from the 
monthly meeting in Great Britain, ' which was read and well 
received.' He was born in 166G. George 2d, son of the 
above George, had one son and four daughters, born and re- 
corded from 1714 to '22. 'St^uire Boone,' on the 23d of 
7th mo. 1720, (was son of the 1st George Boone,) was uni- 
ted in marriage to Sarah Morgan, and the records of the 

T). C. Mr. Biddle, looking over the papers one day, remarked that 
• these Boones all appeared to have been Episcopalians." " Oh, yes," 
replied Miss Boone, "they were all High Church people," adding 
that "most of them became Quakers out of compliment to Penn 
and his successors." 



20 LIFE OF DAIOEL BOONE. 

meeting show, that they had the following children, to wit : 
Sarah, born 1724, Israel in 1726, Samuel in 1728, Jonathan 
in 1730, Elizabeth in 1732, Daniel, the 22d of 8th mo., 1734. 
Mary, born in 1736, George in 1739, and Edward in 1740. 
These last alone are taken from the records of monthly 
meetings at Exeter in Berks Co., about 9 miles south from 
Reading, Penn. The above Daniel, is the Col. Daniel. 
James Boone was a distinguished mathematician, about the 
year 1770, as some of his professional papers still show. 
He wrote some family pedigree, which is now with that last 
son in Missouri. Richard, a large iron master, (and hist 
brother Samuel) now live near Reading, and their sister' 
Sally lives in Exeter. Ruppe's History of Berks and Leb- 
anon, says several families of Friends settled in this town- 
ship, (Oley) as early as 1713 or 1715, and that George 
Boone, a native of England, took out a warrant of 400 acres 
of land in 1718 in this township, (meaning Oley.) The re- 
cords of Friends concerning Boone, stop with the year 1748, 
as being about that time pretty much out of meeting. 
In 1747, Israel Boone, eldest son of Sc[uire Boone, was dis- 
owned for marrying out of meeting, and on 26th of 3d mo., 
1748, Squire Boone himself is disowned for countenancing 
such marriage. About this time he must have emigrated 
with his family to Holomant Ford, on the Yadkin River, 
North Carolina; because the North Carolinian history of 
Boone Co., talks of Daniel as coming there a child, but I 
mfer rather a lad of 13 or 14 years. The name 'Squire' 
is in all places given in place of baptismal name, and I saw 
nothmg to indicate him as in the magistracy." 

The evidence from the compositions of the Forest 
Statesman, when he had occasion to resort to the 



SCHOOL-BOY DATS. 21 

written language, in which to communicate his ideas 
to his fellow-men, is that his education, in the techni- 
cal and school sense of the term, was very simple 
and incomplete. Grammar and orthography were 
not his household deities. He expressed his meaning, 
taking his road to it over every obstacle of spelling 
or sentence that chanced in his way. The school was 
just such an one as the frontier settlements would be 
likely to possess. Logs were the material most avail- 
able for dwelling, fort, or school, and the order of ar- 
chitecture was severe in its simjDlicity. It was but 
one of the seven lamps of architectjare that blazed in 
the forest. The right-angle was to the settler pos- 
sessed of the beauty which Hogarth ascribed to the 
curve, for it had simplicity, convenience and strength. 
The school-house at which Daniel Boone was an at- 
tendant was of the square form — the windows, a mere 
hole cut in the logs to admit the light — a chimney, 
huge in utter disproportion, on one side, and the art 
of the rude mason evinced only in the alternate lay- 
ers of log and clay. No luxury of cushions, or pa- 
tent seats, or easy-angled desks, favored the children 
of that time. Their minds were taught in the midst 
of privation ; and to submit to the roughness and in- 
convenience of life was the discipline which prepared 
those who attended them to go out and " make the 
rough places smooth." All that education set before 
its guests, were the great dishes of the feast of learn* 



2S LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ing — but the artist had no skill in their preparation. 
The school was to be passed through as an ordeal, ra- 
ther than lingered in as a privilege. 

To read was taught, but it was more as the mechan 
ical utterance of the words — to write, but with char- 
acters whose size, more than grace, w^as consulted — • 
to cypher, the problems as simple as for which a ru- 
ral trade could furnish the example. But they who 
graduated at such chairs, went thence to write with 
glittering axe and sword their names and history and 
purposes in forests — to read the emotions and pas- 
sions and will of crafty and dangerous foes, or the 
true destinies of an advancing country — to use their 
arithmetic in estimating the resources of arms, the 
chances of battle, the results of liarvest. The schol- 
ar and the merchant were always behind them, wait- 
ing the time of safe adventure. 

But among the brief library of that school, their 
text books were few indeed. There was one in which, 
in all probability, as it was part of the routine of 
study, Boone was taught, whose lessons came to him 
in the mighty solitudes of his after years. A lonely 
man — a companion of the stately trees — away from 
home and the vices of the race, the heavens above 
him seemed nearer than to us, who are forever at- 
tracted by the crowd around us ; and the promptings 
of admiration, of veneration, and of simple faith, 
may have come up to his memory from the teachings 



60IIOOL-B0r DATS. 23 

of the simple lessons of the school-house, with cheer- 
ing and consoling power. Boone's " schooling " was 
soon over. The times left astute scholarship to the 
far-off cities of the Old World. The frontier men 
had other and bolder pursuits. 

Around the school-house was the material for learn- 
ing to an illimitable extent. The woods opened their 
recesses to the hunter, in which he could acquire all 
the mysteries of forest craft; and Boone found in 
these scenes pursuits most congenial. Pennsylvania, 
in the policy pursued by its founder, had not fought 
its dominion inch by inch, from the savage ; but his 
doctrines had not quite as successfully reached the 
frontier, as they had been prevalent at the seat of 
government. The Indian was regarded, even by the 
most sensible and best judging of the settlers, as an 
incumbrance — as of a class of men who occupied 
land, the value of which they did not realize, and of 
which they made most imperfect use. But those who 
looked thus upon them were the few. The many con- 
sidered the Indian as a foe — as treacherous — never 
to be trusted, and ready to destroy whenever oppor- 
tunity offered ; and thus a fitting subject for the 
prowess and might of the white man. The woods 
were common ground to each. As the Indian either 
could not or would not acquire the habit of the set- 
tler, the latter applied himself to acquire the cun- 
ning and the strategy of the forest men. The settler 



24 LIFE OF DANIKT, P.OONE. 

watched the movements of the savages, to learn the 
means bj which snch accurate knowledge of pathway 
and retreat, and fastness and cave and glen — of the 
most minnte habits of the wild beast — of all that 
pertained to forest life, was obtained ; — and in this 
school, Daniel Boone sprung at once to superior schol- 
arship. The rifle was, in his hand, unerring as the 
bow of Robin Hood. He learned lessons of the snow 
and the leaves and the moss, and to detect, with quick 
eye, the tread of foot — to rival the sagacity of the 
honnd, or what was as intense in its accuracy — the 
cunning of the Indian warrior. 

It has been professed by some who have written of 
the bold Boone, to invest his childhood and school 
days with incidents of strange interest. It would be 
gratifying to be able, with a regard to that without 
which a biography is but a fable, so to do. But 
Boone's heroic character was made by circumstances. 
The strong workings of after life developed the man. 
The training for that life began in the rough expe- 
riences of the border. Above all, the life of the wood- 
man taught the boy self-reliance. It gave him to 
know what a treasure he held in his own energies, 
and showed him that when he had a work to do, him- 
self was, of all others, the best craftsman. A better 
school, a more varied learning, would have been in- 
consistent with the pioneer destiny that was in store 
for him. He was to see the State, while as yet it had 



THE BOY-UUNTEK. 25 

i it tlie physical material of its greatness, and heliad 
tw do with the realities of life, unaifected and iincol- 
ored by such impulses as law and civilization were to 
bring. The mighty hunter has been the founder of a 
great city. The power of using to the best advantage 
all that is around us, can be brought into use, not 
alone for the things of every-day life, but for the pro- 
duction of the strong features of the incidents of ex- 
istence. 

Boone was soon a hunter. The stories of his prow- 
ess in this department of action are many. It is re- 
lated of him, that he soon deserted the farm-house of 
his father, and established for himself a cabin in the 
woods, decorated with the spoils of the chase — that 
he faced fearlessly the fiercer wild beasts that prowled 
around — and that men stepped back to contemplate, 
with more than ordinary wonder, the daring of a boy, 
who had so soon in life won a name among his peo- 
ple, by acts of skill and courage. The school of the 
forest found him a proficient, and he had attained a 
reputation fitting him for leadership, when he was 
called to that characteristic American experience — 
the seeking out a new home. 

Squire Boone had determined upon removing from 
Pennsylvania. It is probable that he was influenced 
to his destination, by reports of the region of moun- 
tain land in North Carolina, which reached him while 
on a visit to his relatives in Maryland. His largo 
B 



26 LTPE OF DAKIEI. BOONE. 

family would find, in a State still more sparsely set- 
tled than Pennsylvania, greater facilities for acquiring 
the means of support ; nor is it likely that the teach- 
ings and example of the adventurer, who was one of 
his own sons, was without eft'ect. The country around 
Eeading had become familiar to young Boone, and 
he, in all probability, gladly seconded the proposal to 
seek a larger sphere of action. From his friends in 
Maryland, he might obtain the information of the 
pleasanter climate and richer land of the Old I^orth 
State. 

Boone had now^ arrived at the age when reflection 
often comes to give new value to the vigor and joyous 
character of the boy. Eighteen is one of the eras in 
life. He had been already inured to hunger and toil, 
and was of all his father's good company of boys, 
likely to be the most useful. 

The pilgrimage of the family must have been one 
of vivid interest. Traversing Maryland and Yirginia, 
the scenes which opened to the mind of young Boone 
gave him deep thought of what was open to the bold 
and adventurous. He realized in every stage of the 
journey, what value his knowledge of the woodman's 
life was to him, and how strong it made him in ser- 
vice to his father; but it never presented itself, even 
to his fancy, with what avidity a great nation would, 
in after years, read the most minute details of this 
progress, if it could be gathered up wiih accuracy. 



CHAPTEE II. 

KEW HOME IN THE OLD NORTH STATE MARRIAGE OF DANIEL BOONE TO 

REBECCA BRYAN BOONE, WITH HIS BRIDE, CROSSES THE VALLEY OF THB 

YADKIN, AND BUILDS HIS CABIN OTHER SETTLERS BOONE SHUNS SO- 
CIETY DETERMINES TO REMOVE WEST OF THE MOUNTAINS DE SOTO 

INDIAN TRIBES PREVAILING IGNORANCE OF THE COUNTRY WEST OF THB 

MOUNTAINS CHARACTER OF BOONE AN INCIDENT OF HIS OLD AGE 

THE COLONIAL SYSTEM ITS RESULTS. 

As his first home liad been on the head-waters of 
the Schuylkill, his new residence was found near the 
South Yadkin, a river which, taking its rise among 
the mountains that form the western country of T^orth 
Carolina, runs in a south-east direction, cutting the 
State, and thence through South Carolina, finds its 
way to the ocean, a little to the northward of the 
mouth of the Santee. 

He became a citizen of l^orth Carolina about the 
year lYo3. This was a period in the history of our 
country when a character w^as forming whose influ- 
ences were to affect the welfare of the forthcom- 
ing Republic with a power which, in its force, 
we can never estimate rightly. With Braddock, 
Washington was learning the art of war, and acqui- 
ring that great military knowledge which intelligent 



28 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 

historians now concede belong to liini, in a degree fit- 
ting his greatness. Had it been Boone's lot to have 
been by his side in that campaign, with the rifle so 
unerring in its aim, familiar witli the battle rather 
than with the chase, upon a mind so resolute, what 
might not such an event have graven ! But it was his to 
be the master in another strife, and to accomplish for 
his country results following, in their fullness of suc- 
cess, most properly upon the victories won and peace 
established, to which Washington gave his strength. 
The journey which Washington, acting under the 
orders of Lord Dunmore, the Governor of Yirginia, 
was at this time pursuing — passing as it did through 
a wild and weary land — a wilderness, and one where 
danger threaded each footstep — was coincident with 
that which the family of Boone made. Both marked 
the noon of the century, by the keen and scrutinizing 
observation of a bold mind, upon the characteristics 
and incidents of a new country. The emigrant fam- 
ily, bound to the mountain land of I^ortli Carolina, 
and the gallant young Virginian, were serving the 
yet unknown Kepublic, and the results of their mem- 
orable journeys are with us. 

In this home of his father, Boone grew to man- 
hood, and pursuing the life which belonged to bold 
men — for he could pursue no other. He was yet a 
private citizen, filling no place which brought his 
name into record or archive. The far-off stir of the 



MARRIAGE OF BOONE. 29 

conflict of England and France, died away before it 
reached that mountain land. It was not yet the time 
for the pulses of the Old IS'orth State to be aroused. 
When, in after years, that time came, history tells 
with what patriotic strength the Carolinian avouched 
his love for freedom by daring deeds. Boone had the 
pursuit of farmer and hunter to combine. In all 
probability, he had his chief acquaintance with wood 
craft, and while he pursued the labor of the agricul- 
turist, found in the wild chase of the mountain a pur- 
suit to which his heart beat in quick response. The 
country around his father's house found other occu- 
pants, and among them was the family of Mr. Bryan 
— even to this day an honored name in Carolina. 
"With all his disposition to rove about, Boone found 
that his affections had susceptibility kindred to those 
of other men, and in a daughter of his father's neigh- 
bor — Rebecca Bryan — he won a bride, and hence- 
forth is to be considered as separating his history from 
that of his father. 

There is a very clever romance told about an ad- 
venture of the wooing of Boone, in which he came 
most unluckily near to a very sudden termination of 
his fair Eebecca's existence, by mistaking her bright 
eyes for those of a deer. The error was fortunately 
discovered in time, probably, to allow him to assure 
her that she was a dear— the orthography making all 
the difference in the world. Unfortunately, the inci- 



30 LIFE OF DAJflEL BOONE. 

dent never occurred — nor was it likely to occur. A 
good hunter, such as Boone, would make no such er- 
ror. Kebecca, in those days, would have been far 
more likely to have deemed her lover very absurd, to 
have thus been deceived, qnd to have doubted his 
skill. 

In tracing out Boone's history, such romances are 
to be thrown aside at every step. It has been of ma- 
ny of the years of his life, that the biographer seems 
to have taken the course of Scott. On one occasion, 
G. P. R. James, on a visit to Abbotsford, was by the 
depth of snow detained for a number of days. Li 
all that period. Sir Walter's powers of anecdote and 
reminiscence seemed inexhaustible. Mr. James could 
not at last restrain his amazement, and asked the nov- 
elist where he possibly could find all the incidents he 
was relating. " Oh," said Scott, archly, " my mem- 
ory is pretty good, and when that fails me in a story, 
why, then I just mah^ oneP The life of Boone, till 
he left his home, has needed the imagination rather 
than the archive. And yet, peaceful and regular as 
the farmer-hunter passed his days, all this time was 
occupied in the formation of character, in acquiring 
the patient energy which, having calculated the cost, 
builds its edifice throughout. He was in the pursuits 
of life for himself and the' being that had left her 
home to share life with him. It would be an inter- 
wting studj in the philosophy of action, to investi- 



Ills HOME ON THE YADKIN. 8$ 

gate tlie probability of the plans formed 'by him, while 
he was a farmer on the Yadkin — for in the progress 
of the movement which the rule so excellent in the 
formation of a country prescribed, that towards a 
separate home, he traversed the Yadkin valley, at a 
locality still more remote from. the seaboard and near- 
er the mountain — thus indicating, in renewed in- 
stance, his attachment for the wild and forest side of 
nature. Here he placed his cabin. Its fire-light 
shone in welcome to the rare stranger who found that 
river side. This rude home was his, to whom a na- 
tion was to rear marble memorial. It was a true 
home for him. In its solitudes lie could find the voice 
of- the wood speaking to him in the language of 
the seasons, of which he had been so long a success- 
ful scholar. 

He was not to remain always thus solitary. The 
same causes which sent him from his childhood's 
home, urged many other young men to the new land 
and fresh air — to the game and the hunt — and the 
population around him soon increased. The lands 
along the Yadkin attracted the notice of other set- 
tlers, and young Boone found the smoke of his cabin 
fire no longer the only one that floated into the air 
of the valley. His fields were bounded and meas- 
ured and determined, and the inconveniences of civ- 
ilization and of society presented themselves. These 
accessions of companionship, however congenial ta 



82 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOHE. 

the greatest part of mankind, who rather rush to- 
gether than keep aloof from each other, did not suit 
Boone. All his suhseqnetit history shows that he had 
no attachment for the jierpetual society of humanity. 
He had left his father because there was not room and 
verge enough for him where Squire Boone gathered 
each day his numerous family, and he could not fail 
to discover that men each day the more disputed his 
sole tenancy of the valley. Most men would have 
seen each neighbor with satisfaction, and watched 
the progress of the "settlement" towards that period 
when it should enjoy the full measure of learning and 
law that the thronged population brings, with delight. 
The heart of man, answering each to the other, is to 
the great material of which mankind are made up, a 
comfort and a solace. The bolder spirit of Boone was 
destined for other uses. He had in him the desire to 
wield the power of governing, though his mind might 
not have itself framed such purpose or plan ; — but 
there is power in loneliness, for the man is then no- 
bler than all else around liim. Boone was soon con- 
scious that his time on tlie Yadkin was to be limited. 
The circumstances defining that limitation soon man- 
ifested themselves. 

The fields for adventure lay within his reach. The 
mountains were to be crossed, and a new and unex- 
plored country was all before the hunter where to 
choose. Of all this country, the wildest stories wer«» 



THE WILDERNESS WEST. 53 

related. It was invested Avitli every beauty > every 
danger, every incident that could amuse the imagina- 
tion or quicken action. It was eas}^ to do this, be- 
cause nothing whatever was known of it. There rose 
the mountain, high and difficult in itself, a barrier to 
every other progress than such as might belong to the 
boldest enterprise. The population of the seaboard 
region were content for a long series of years to be- 
lieve all that an utter ignorance created, of the wild 
peril of the wilderness. The only traveler there was 
the Indian, and in his reputation was sufficient cer- 
tificate for the timid to rest at the distance. Of no- 
ble rivers and tremendous forests, the Indian gave a 
brief mention — enough only to be the theme of the 
story of tlie winter for the settler on the frontier. 
The Indian invited no visitor, except by the promise 
of life worn out by an imprisonment among tribes, 
who bore no pleasant promise of much kindness in 
their ferocity. Beyond the mountain was the indefi- 
nite world for the future. Some of the frontier men 
knew that its discovery and exploration and subjuga- 
tion would assuredly come, but the difficulty and 
danger seemed more abundant than the good to be 
realized, even by success. They waited with impa- 
tience the movement that should lead the way — and 
the day for that movement approached steadily and 
Burely. 

When De Soto was called to finish his wonderful 
B* 3 



34 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

career — when that great man, after travershig with a 
zeal that was illustrious by all ita qualities, the lands of 
the South, came to his death, it is of record that lest this 
sad event should prostrate the completion of his great 
plans of entei'prise, " his body was wrapped in a man- 
tle, and in the stillness of midnight, was silently sunk 
in the middle of the stream. The discoverer of the 
Mississippi slept beneath its waters. He crossed the 
continent in search of gold, and found nothing so re- 
markable as his burial place." The Mississippi was 
his monument. 

And he was but one of a band of noble-hearted 
men who, with resistless energy, gave pathways to 
the wilderness, and passed through all the fearful ad- 
ventures of savage life, with a courage which was 
more than that of the warrior, who in the excitements 
of fierce battle forgets danger. Marquette and La 
Salle have left their traces on the history of tlie land, 
and will never be forgotten. 

We approach the period when Boone's life really 
began — that life which is forming a page of useful- 
'^ess in his country's annals — a fame which will bear 
to be heralded when others, more notorious, and far 
less worthy, will be silenced. 

In the developments of the age, the mountain 
ridge was to cease to be a barrier, and the long em- 
pire of the savage over the rich "West came to its last 
years,-- and if their old wise-men had possessed but 



THE WILDERNESS WEST. 35 

a tithe of the skill they boasted, there would have 
been signs of blood and disaster in their prophetic 
sky. 

Even at this hour, there are portions of our conti- 
nent, the state of public knowledge in respect to 
which will allow us to realize fully what was the 
shadowy information, the conjecture, not the result, 
which the Carolinians possessed of the "West, as that 
comprehensive term was in use at that time. What 
do we know of the far-off and cold lands that form 
that empire, so vast in mere territory — British Amer- 
ica ! The hunter and the fur trader give the statistics 
of trails and scattered lodges, but of* its topography, 
the map and the history are content to give the most 
vague and general statements. Beyond the mountain, 
all was of the same uncertain pattern. 

Indeed, it was a bold and daring deed to reach that 
mountain, even on its eastern side. The hunters, of 
whom unquestionably Boone was one, and probably 
the boldest and the most acute in his pursuit, ven- 
tured each season deeper into the forest. The step of 
the white man w^as following fast on that of the In- 
dian, and it left no uncertain tread. Along the Clinch 
River and the Holston Eiver, hunting parties pursued 
their way ; and as they went, the mysteries of forest 
life grew more familiar. Boone learned, even better 
than before, that neither roof nor house nor bed were 
the necessaries of life. The forest could be a?iade to 



36 LIFE OF DAKIEL BOOT^TEI. 

give all these. The forest found food also ; and these 
great points ascertained, the conviction of safety set- 
tled in the mind, the courage and the resolution were 
there also, and their practical workings made them- 
selves every day more and more manifest. 

In the way of all far exploration, however, a great 
difficulty presented itself, in effect much more formi- 
dable than was the peril of the forest, or the barrier 
of the mountain. Tlie frontier men knew what it 
was to dread the predatory warfare of the Indian. 
The homes of the mountain land of ISTorth Carolina, 
now the abode of peaceful and industrious farmers, 
quiet and unmoved, and far remote from the perils of 
savage life, were not always thus. The inhabitants 
along the Yadkin, and scattered up to the region of 
the Holston and Clinch, were compelled to exercise 
due caution against the incursions of the Cherokee. 
The paths of the forest they could tread successfully, 
where the white man could only find an uncertain 
journeying. To them the woods were the home of 
a lifetime, and they used their knowledge to the pur- 
poses of warfare for a series of years. The people of 
those days have long since found their graves, but if 
the traditions of Ashe, and Wilkes, and Yancey, and 
Surrey, and Caldwell, and Haywood were thoroughly 
brought to light, it might be found that the eventful 
era which just preceded the opening of the West to 
the wanderings of the settlers, was thronged with all 



EXTRACT FROM JUDGE MARSHALL. 37 

the inoidents of Indian foray and Indian border war. 
This disturbed condition of the country kept back en- 
terprise. It was one thing to go out w^ith the expec- 
tation of meeting one's worst foe in the wikl beast, 
and quite another to risk the encounter with the sav- 
age, whose every passion w^as excited by the fact 
which even his immature mind received, that the 
men who had made a home for themselves in this wild 
part of the Carolinas, would not always regard the 
mountain as an insurmountable barrier. 

The language of John Marshall has faithfully de- 
lineated the impression cherished by the people of tlie 
frontier, in respect to the country that lay beyond. 
To them it was a perpetual desire to go in and possess 
it, but they were deterred by their want of any know 
ledge of what it really was. The change to us, who 
view that country in these days, when not a century 
has elapsed, is wonderful. It is the contrast between 
a wilderness and an empire. Traversed by all possi- 
ble modes of conveyance — the wild beast a specta- 
cle and a show — the comforts and luxuries of civili- 
zation on all sides — it is hard to credit the annals of 
obscurity, of caution, of doubt and difficulty that are 
before us, in the histories of the period when Boone 
was preparing to become the first successful and' per- 
severing occupant of the new country. Judge Mar- 
shall 



S8 LITE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

" The country beyond the Cumberland mountam, still (in 
1767) appeared to the dusky view of the generality of the 
people of Virginia, almost as obscure and doubtful, as Amer- 
ica itself to the people of Europe, before the voyage of Co- 
lumbus. A country there was — of this none could doubt, 
who thought at all ; but whether land or water, mountain or 
plain, fertility or barrenness, preponderated — whether in- 
habited by men or beasts, or both, or neither, they knew 
not. If inhabited by men, they were supposed to be In- 
dians, — for such had always infested the frontiers. And 
this had been a powerful reason for not exploring the region 
west of the great mountain, which concealed Kentucky from 
their sight." * 

In tlie movements of men, it is very rarely that 
even those actions which, by their consequences, and 
the magnitude to which, when once begun, they grow, 
a^e the result of a design '' to do some great thing " 
• — but arising from some cause connected with the 
l^errional relation, either in the desire to render the 
condition in life more agreeable, or to give strength 
or pleasure to the social tie, their beginning, being in 
the ordinary routine of affair, is forgotten. 

It may be doubted w^hether, if the opinions gener- 
ally received of Daniel Boone were true, he would 
have been the pioneer of Kentucky. Until his his- 
tory w^as closely investigated, he was classed with the 
wild huntsman — the Indian fighter — the man of 
border foray — a link between the savage and the set* 



39 

ller. His real character was not this. Mild and 
simple-hearted — steady, not impulsive in courage — ■ 
bold and determined, but always rather inclined to 
defend than attack — he stood immeasurably above 
that wretched class of men, w^ho are so often the pre- 
liminaries of civilization. Boone deliberately chose 
the peace of solitude, rather than to mingle in the 
wild wranglings and disputings of the society around 
him. This is the key to his movement in quitting the 
Yadkin and his home thereon. He had his distinc- 
tive character. It was plain and simple — not so, 
alone when the depths of a forest home made such 
regimen but a necessity, but when he was surrounded 
by kind and ministering friends, the same habit con- 
tinued. He had the great habit of simplicity within 
him — a quality of mind which seems most easy tg 
maintain, and yet in its purity is among the most ex- 
traordinary and difficult. 

This concentration, within a small limit of his de- 
sires, remained to old age — and it is but illustrating 
his life on the borders of Carolina, to allude to the 
incident which an eminent artist narrates, that when 
he visited the great pioneer, the very year of his 
death, when the decrepitude of old age was upon him, 
the veteran, swinging in his cot, toasted on his ram- 
rod a slice of venison — his long life not teaching him 
to forego the simplicity of his earlier habit. He 
found in the forest and in the chase, scenes and ad- 



4:0 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ventures that talked with him, in a language unsul- 
lied by the wretchedness of duplicity, and fraud, and 
petty scheming, or successful cunning, that soon made 
their appearance in -the region about him ; and he 
could not reconcile himself to the manner in which 
human law determined the variances. There seemed 
to be too much of form, and not enough of the dis- 
tinct and plain equities of a just judgment, about it 
all. Boone was a reformer, just so far as to discover 
errors in the framework of society around him ; but 
he was disposed rather to avoid than to correct them. 
Those who perpetrated the wrong, w^ere not inclined 
to reo-ard him as the man who was to remodel their 
ways, and he sought no authorit}^ The adventures 
of the forest would at once give field to his energies., 
«nd take him away from scenes which he felt to be 
adverse to his own simple-hearted desire to do kindly 
to his fellow men. 

There were circumstances in the situation of that 
part of E"orth Carolina in which Boone resided, which 
led to his departure for that life of adventure which 
has made his name memorable, and which is now a 
precious chapter in the history of the country. 

The increasing wealth of the Scotch settlers, ac- 
quired by their unerring sagacity, soon made its mark, 
and the desire to outrival each other in the luxuries 
of life was everywhere prevalent. The peaceful quiet 
of domestic life was invaded by the foe within, in th« 



GRIETANCES OF THE COLOSTISTS. 41 

guise of a passion for the same ornament and dis- 
play which were to be found in the older society of 
the seaboard. The mark was set upon those who 
either declined to follow the path of advancing for- 
tune, or were unable to do it — and this could not but 
make its impression upon society ; nor could it fail of 
remark from Boone. If he could scarcely bear the 
artificial restraints of custom and rule in ordinary 
times, to a man of the severe simplicity, which was 
so eminently the case with him, the fight of fashion 
was too sinfull. It made him uneasy in his river- 
side home, and he looked impatiently beyond the hills 
for a refuge. 

There were circumstances in the government which 
rendered this more unendurable. The parent country 
sent out to the important and responsible position of 
governor of the colony, those whose sympathies and 
associations at once linked in with those who affected 
a tendency towards aristocratic living, and this only 
made the separation of the two classes more evident. 

But the grievance was destined to reach the people 
in a more direct manner. The officers of the courts 
soon found a way in which to raise their fortunes, by 
following the increase in the cost of living by an 
augmentation of their fees and perquisites. Perhaps 
no better device could have been originated to arouse 
the great mass of the people. 

To authorize the collection of all sums over forty 



42 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

shillings ic a court of record, was to open widely the 
path to a most extensile litigation, and the probable 
results soon followed. It was a harvest for the law- 
yer and the clerk, — the sheriff, the speculator, and the 
tax gatherer followed with ready and unrelenting 
footsteps. 

At first the people doubted whether their wrongs 
could last for any other period than as a brief and 
rapidly passing trouble. But the gloom increased. 
The people petitioned to their rulers, but the sympa- 
thy of these was all with those who were far more 
ready to seek occasion still deeper to oppress the peo- 
ple, than to lighten their calamity. Tlie petitioners 
and the petitions were alike treated with scorn. 

The colonial system was realizing the climax of its 
errors. The government was too far removed from 
the people, and the open rebellion which followed 
was a significant type of the more extended grasp of 
power by the people themselves, which was witnessed 
in all parts of the colonies but few years afterwards. 

Taxation is a power, which, even in its wise exercise, 
is regarded as an oppressive necessity ; but when the 
avails go directly to the benefit of all, the greater good 
of the result heals all the trouble. But in Carolina, 
the taxes emanated from a class of men who were in- 
imical by position and circumstance to those wlio 
were compelled to pay, and to whom the payment 
was 60 much subtracted from the necessities of life* 



KESULTS OF THE COLONIAL SYSTEM. 



43 



Indeed, to make a climax, the very collecting sher- 
iffs augmented the taxes, and collecting, rather what 
they chose than what the law exacted, plundered the 
people and made gain of their necessity. 



V _ ^- 




CHAPTEE III. 

JOIIX FIXLEy's visit to TENNESSEE IN I'IG'Z DR. WALKER's EXPEDITIOH 

BOONE's visit to the HOLSTON river BOONE AND FIVE OTHERS MOVE 

WEST OF THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS BOONe's WIFE FILSON's LIFE 

OF BOONE BOONE AND STEWART TAKEN PRISONERS BY THE INDIANS 

ESCAPE THEY FIND TUEIR COMPANIONS GONE BOONE AND STEWART 

REMAIN ALONE THE NARRATIVE INDIAN TREATIES FATE OF FINLET 

SQUIRE BOONE ARRIVES DEATH OF STEWART BOONE AND HIS 

BROTHER PASS THE WINTER ALONE IN THE WOODS SQUIRE BOONE RE- 
TURNS TO NORTH CAROLINA FOR SUPPLIES. 

In 1767, Jolin Findlaj, or Fiolej, formed one of a 
party of hunters, who determined to enlarge the usual 
bounds of their foray upon the wild game, and daring 
more than those who had gone before him, he found 
himself upon the waters of the Kentucky Eiver. The 
Indians roamed the land undisturbed, and ignorant 
of the tremendous power that existed in the pale-faced 
neighborhood over the mountain, disdained to harass 
these hunters, the first who had made themselves 
known^ to them. They traversed a portion of Tennes- 
see. Its valleys in all the wealth of vegetation, and 
.ts scenery of bold type — its mountain forests, and 
above all — for these were practical men, who rather 
looked upon what was to be acquired than at the 
beautiful — there was a variety and a sufficiency of 
game. Forest and cane-brake were explored, and 



45 

there was a glowing consciousness that a rare land 
had been discovered, and that they had been the first 
to enjoy it. 

It is easy to imagine, in some degree, the delight 
which he and his party experienced in once getting be- 
yond the bounds of their former chase. Evidently, 
from the history of Finley, and of all those who, like 
him, " extended the area of civilization," to them, 
whatever other pursuit was in their village, or from 
home,forced upon them, that in which they reveled was 
the open and free life of the hunter — a pursuit where 
they feared no enemy whose craft and cunning was 
superior to the roving animal, whose strength and en- 
durance gave him almost equality in the contests of 
the forests. In relation to the visit of Finley, Gov- 
ernor Morehead, in his admirable address at Boones- 
borough, (May 25, 1840,) uses the following language, 
which would not be characteristic of himself, were it 
not eloquent and graceful : 

" Of Finley and his comrades, and of the course and ex- 
tent of their journey, little is now known. That they were 
of the pure blood, and endowed with the genuine qualities 
of the pioneers, is manifestly undeniable. That they passed 
over the Cumberhiiid, and through the intermediate country 
to the Kentucky River, and penetrated the beautiful valley 
of the Elkhorn, there are no sufficient reasons to doubt. It 
is enough, however, to embalm their memory in our hearts, 
and to connect their names with the imperishable memorials 
of our early history, that they were the first adventiirers that 



46 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

plunged into the dark and enchanted wilderness of Kentucky, 
— that of all their cotemporaries they saw her first, — and 
saw her in the pride of her virgin beauty — at the dawn of 
summer — in the fullness of her vegetation — lier soil in- 
stinct with fertility, covered with the most luxuriant ver- 
dure — the air perfumed with the fragrance of flowers, and 
her tall forests looming in all their primeval magnificence. 
How long Finley lived, or where he died, the silence of his- 
tory does not enable us to know. That his remains are now 
mingled with the soil that he discovered, there is some rea- 
son to hope, for he conducted Boone to Kentucky in 1769 — • 
and there the curtain drops upon him forever." 

So early as 1750, according to some accounts, 
though by others fixed in 1747, and 1748, Dr. Walker, 
with a party. Lad attempted an exploration beyond 
the mountain. He crossed from Powell's Yalley over 
to Cumberland, and traversed with rapidity along the 
north-eastern portion of Kentucky ; but his task 
seemed to be ended with the country which borders 
on the Sandy River, now one of the frontier lines of 
Kentucky and Yir<^inia. This expedition seems, by 
all historians, to have been considered as a failure. 
It must have been so, for its results were so trifling, 
leaving no monument in history, and valuable only, 
it may be, in fixing the fact in the intei'course of the 
people, that the mountain barrier could be overcome. 
Had he possessed the vigor of the famous men who 
had directed their zeal to the southwest, his name 
would have been of record, as that of him who had 



finlet's account on his ketuhn. 47 

been worthy of companionsliip witli De Soto and La 
Salle and Marquette. Those who contend that Dr. 
Walker made his visit in 1747, say that he visited the 
eastern and south-eastern portions of Kentucky. The 
truth is scarcely worth the labor of excavation from 
the mass of conjecture, since he does not seem to have 
looked upon what was around him as worthy of the 
record, which he certainly ought to have given it. 

This is but one of the many instances, which, to the 
reader of history, become so painfully apparent, that 
those who are by circumstances placed in the position 
of all others best to give to the world the true causes 
of a nation's formation, either are incapable of the 
duty, or neglectful, or careless of it. When they and 
their knowledge are forever past away, posterity be- 
comes painfully cognizant of the great loss their ab- 
sence has occasioned. 

Finley returned, and with those who are familiar 
with the free intercourse of rural life, and how much 
the oral relation is preferred to the graver narrative, it 
will not be considered strange that the stories which 
he spread, of what he had seen, at once awakened 
the keen attention of his neighbors and friends to a 
glorious new country, w^here the intricacies of the 
cunning of the law were unknown — where fashion 
had no other rules than such as comfort declared it wa3 
a luxury to have — in that day when the hard grasp 
of oppression in various forms was on so many. They 



48 LIFE OF DAlflEL BOONE. 

talked loud and long of tlie beauty and the fertility 
of the country — that the sport of the hunter was the 
unvarying prelude to his full success — that forest 
and field and river waited but to be possessed. 

Daniel Boone was soon eagerly a listener. It 
touched the great key note of his character, and the 
hour and the Man had come. He had before this 
ranged far beyond his habitation. The valleys on the 
head waters of the Holston, in the south-western part 
of Yirginia, became familiar to him, and in 1764 he 
had entered within the present limits of Kentucky, 
being with a party of hunters on the Rock Castle, a 
branch of the Cumberland River. He looked around 
in an examination of the country — not so much for 
Lis own purposes, as to fulfil a duty imposed on him 
by a company of land speculators, who probably se- 
lected him as a determined and quiet man, who would 
fearlessly discover and with integrity relate the truth, 
concerning the acquisitions they had designed to make 
— and this incident illustrates his character and his- 
tory. Th-e record of their speculation had passed 
away, but their agent soon made himself memorable. 

It is remarkable and significant that, notwithstand- 
ing all the glowing nari-ations of Finley, and of those 
who had accompanied him, a number of months 
elapsed before a party could be made up, to take up 
the exploration thus begun. The people to whom 
these hunters gave their wild histories, were cool and 



BOONE AND HIS FIVE CCMPANIONS. 49 

reflecting. It was one thing to hear of a land whose 
resources and treasures were so abundant, and quite 
another affair to risk life and liberty in its acquisition. 
The power of the Indian was well known by these 
border men. They knew that while Finley and his 
party, perhaps from the very novelty of the enter- 
prise, had been allowed to go through and to re- 
turn unmolested, it was the more probable that the 
news that the pale-face had come across the moun- 
tain would be spread all over the tribes, and there 
were those, it was well known, among the Indians, 
who would not allow a second invasion without some 
severer scrutiny. To none of those who gathered 
around Finley, were all his facts more interesting 
than to Boone. He had his deef discontents, and 
chafed in the toils to which society, as then constitu- 
ted, guided him. But he had with him a wife, who 
had, for him, severed herself from her father's ho'me, 
and exchanged- the quiet of "William Penn's colony 
for the wilder frontier life of the Yadkin. There were 
considerations impelling him on all sides, and, as he 
was chosen the master-man of the forming expedition, 
it is quite likely that his delay was that of the wise 
observer of all the perils before him. At last six men 
were organized — Daniel Boone, John Finley, John 
Stewart, Joseph Holden, James Monay, William Cool, 
— and these commenced the great movement, in 
the result of which the wide, and wealthy, and 
C 4 



'50 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

prosperous commonwealth of Kentucky so much re- 
joices. 

Boone found, in the good judgment and excellent 
conduct of his worthy wife, a comfort in his proposed 
separation from home. The fiction, that when he was a 
lover of his Rebecca, he nearly mistook the brilliancy 
of her eye for that of a wild animal, found its eluci- 
dation in the better fact, that in the light of that eye, 
he could see that which would guide his home kindly 
and well, while he pushed the strong arm of enter- 
prise into the fastnesses of the forest. He had reared 
a family, and his sons had sufficient age to begin to 
assist their father. 

It is of tlie things most to be regretted, by all who 
examine the record of events v> xth a view to the por- 
traiture of history, that so few of the great actors in 
the stirring events of life, prepare their own relation 
of the scenes themselves have nioulded or witnessed. 
Under all the prejudices, and, notwithstanding the gen- 
eral self-laudation and the special pleading with which 
such statements would be written, they would yet be 
invaluable, for we should often arrive at the precision 
of facts, and know the story of the life as it really was. 

John Filson, who claimed to have been an early 
witness of the settlement of Kentucky, wrote, ostensi- 
bly from Boone's dictation, a life of the great Pioneer, 
but its style of language is so ornate and ambitious, 
as greatly to lessen its value. Evidently, Filson re- 



51 

ceived the leading facts from Boone, and, disdaining 
the simple words of the Pioneer, preferred the use of 
a diction far beyond good taste or probability. Jun- 
lay, the editor of the book, calls it, curiously, " a nar- 
rative, written in a style of the utmost simplicity ^ by 
a man who was one of the hunters who first penetra- 
ted into the bosom of that delectable region." 

Strange enough, with this narrative, in all its over- 
wrought diction, the old Hunter was greatly pleased, 
and it gratified him to have it read before him. It 
has a prefatory page, which begins with the announce- 
ment that, *' Curiosity is natural to the soul of man, 
and interesting objects have a powerful influence on 
our affections " — a platitude which does not follow 
very vigorously, after the statement in the title that the 
work is a narrative of " The Adventures of Colonel 
Daniel Boone, formerly a hunter — containing a nar- 
rative of the Wars of Kentucky." 

And yet', with all its large sounding sentences, it is 
pleasant to trace through this autobiography, when 
the calmness of maturer age had given the judgment 
firmness — what the man really intended. It cannot 
be doubted that he felt it, when he said — " Here, 
where the hand of violence shed the blood of the in- 
nocent — where the horrid yells of savages, and the 
groans of the distressed, sounded in our ears — we 
now hear the praises and adorations of our Creator-; 
where wretched wigwams stood, the miserable abode 



53 LIFE OF DANIEL BuONE. 

of savages, we behold the foundations of cities laid, 
that in all probability will equal the glory of the great- 
est upon earth, — and we view Kentucky, situated on 
the fertile banks of the great Ohio, rising from obscu- . 
rity to shine with splendor." 

The prophet is here. The voice of Boone in this 
utterance was a truthful one — and memorable was 
it, that he who had been once the only white man 
within the whole extent of the rich and far-spread 
land, should have lived to see the great State, in all 
its advancing power and prosperity. 

The narrative is here best continued in the words 
of Boone, as given by Filson. The details which he 
but sketches, can 1)^ gathered up more interestingly 
when we have just listened to his own story. 

" It was on the first of May, in the year 1769, that I re- 
signed my domestic happiness for a time, and left my family 
and peaceable habitation on the Yadkin River, in North Car- 
olina, to wander through the wilderness of America, in quest 
of the country of Kentucky, in company with John Finley, 
John Stewart, Joseph Holden, James Monay, and William 
Cool. We proceeded successfully, and after a long and fa- 
tiguing journey through a mountainous wilderness, in a west- 
ward direction, on the seventh day of June following, we 
found ourselves on Red River, where John Finley had for- 
merly been trading with the Indians, and, from the top of an 
eminence, saw with pleasure the beautiful level of Kentucky. 
Here let me observe that, for some time, we had experienced 
the most uncomfortable weather, as a prelibation of our fu- 
ture sufferings. At this place we encamped, and made a 



THE FORESTS OF KENTUCKY. 53 

shelter to defend us from the inclement season, and began to 
hunt, and reconnoiter the country. We found everywhere 
abundance of wild beasts of all sorts, through this vast for- 
est. The buffalo were more frequent than I have seen cattle 
in the settlements, browsing on the leaves of the cane, or 
cropping the herbage on those extensive plains, fearless, be- 
cause ignorant of the violence of man. Sometimes we saw 
hundreds in a drove ; and the numbers about the salt springs 
were amazing. In this forest — the habitation of beasts of 
every kind natural to America — we practiced hunting with 
great success until the 22d day of December following. This 
day John Stewart and I had a pleasing ramble ; but fortune 
changed the scene in the close of it. We had passed through 
a great forest, on which stood myriads of trees, some gay 
with blossoms, others rich with fruits. Nature was here a 
series of wonders and a fund of delight. Here she displayed 
her ingenuity and industry in a variety of flowers and fruits, 
beautifully colored, elegantly shaped and charmingly flavored; 
and we were diverted with innumerable animals present- 
ing themselves perpetually to our view. In the decline of 
the day, near Kentucky River, as we ascended the brow of a 
small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a thick cane- 
brake upon us, and made us prisoners. The time of our sor- 
row was now arrived, and the scene fully opened. The In- 
dians pkmdered us of what we had, and kept us in confinement 
seven days, treating us with common savage usage. 

" During this time we discovered no uneasiness, or desire 
to escape, which made them less suspicious of us ; but in the 
dead of night, as we lay in a thick cane-brake by a large fire, 
when sleep had locked up their senses, my situation not dis- 
posing me for rest, I touched my companion, and gently 
awoke him. We improved this favorable opportunity, and 
departed, leaving them to take their rest, and speedily di- 



54 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

rected our course towards our old camp, but found it plun- 
dered, and the company dispersed and gone home. About 
this time my brother, Squire Boone, with another adventurer, 
who came to explore the country shortly after us, was wan- 
dering through the forest, determined to find me if possible, 
and accidentally found our camp. Notwithstanding the un- 
fortunate circumstances of our company, and our dangerous 
situation, as surrounded with hostile savages, our meeting so 
fortunately in the wilderness made us reciprocally sensible 
of the utmost satisfaction. Soon after this my comi^anion 
in captivity, John Stewart, was killed by the savages, and 
the man that came with my brother returned home by him- 
self. We were then in a dangerous, helpless situation, ex- 
posed daily to perils and death amongst the savages and wild 
beasts — not a white man in the country but ourselves. 
Thus situated, many hundred miles from our families, in the 
howling wilderness, I believe few would have equally enjoyed 
the happiness we experienced. We continued not in a state 
of indolence, but hunted every day, and prepared a little 
cottage to defend us from the winter storms. We remained 
there undisturbed during the winter. 

" On the first day of May, 1770, my brother returned 
home to the settlement by himself, for a new recruit of hor- 
ses and ammunition, leaving me by myself, without bread, 
salt or sugar, without company of my fellow-creatures, or 
even a horse or dog." 

Thus it was that in 1769 Daniel Boone began the 
great work which may so truthfully be called, in the 
close language of this day, his mission. A memora- 
ble year all over civilization, was 1769. It produced 
more of the distinguished among mankind — of thoso 



BOONE AND HIS PARTY. 55 

wlio wrote their name in famous deed — than almost 
any other one year of ages. It was but fitting its 
annals that it should include the movement which led 
to the formation of a great State — so eminent for its 
men, who have by voice and pen made history illus- 
trious. Some of the great ones of that year devasta- 
ted the earth ; and if they produced ultimate reforms, 
they were purchased at a vast price. Boone gave to 
enterprise the means of furnishing a home for millions, 
vrhere the arts of peace can illustrate the true destiny 
of mankind. " From the top of an eminence we saw 
with pleasure the beautiful level of Kentucky." Such 
is the simple sentence, fortunately preserved by his 
amanuensis in language like that in which the hunter 
spoke it, in which Boone relates his view of the great 
country himself was to develop. 

These six hunters, on the.Yth of June, a month and 
seven days after Boone left his home on the Yadkin, 
were found, as the scene is delineated by the interest- 
ing narrative of Mr. Peck, whose zealous regard for 
accuracy gives him high place among biographers, — 

" Winding their way up the steep side of a rugged moun 
tain, ill the wilderness of Kentucky. Their dress was of the 
description usually worn at that period by all forest rangers. 
The outside garment was a hunting shirt, or loose, open 
frock, made of dressed deer skins. Leggins or drawers, of 
the same material, covered the lower extremities, to which 
was appended a pair of moccasins for the feet. The cape or 



56 LIFE OF DxiNIEL BOONE. 

collar of the hunting shirt, and the seams of the leggins were 
adorned with fringes. The under garments were of coarse 
cotton. A leathern belt encircled the body ; on the right 
side was suspended the tomahawk, to be used as a hatchet ; 
on the left side was the hunting-knife, powder-horn, bullet- 
pouch, and other appendages indispensable for a hunter. 
Each person bore his trusty rifle ; and as the party slowly 
made their toilsome way amid the shrubs, and over the logs 
and loose rocks, that accident had thrown into the obscure 
trail which they were following, each man kept a sharp look- 
out, as though danger or a lurking enemy was near. Their 
garments were soiled and rent, the unavoidable result of 
long traveling, and exposure to the heavy rains that had fall- 
en ; for the weather had been stormy and most uncomforta- 
ble, and they had traversed a mountainous wilderness for 
several miles. 

" Towards the time of the setting sun, the party had reached 
the summit of the mountain range, up which they had toiled 
for some three or four hours, and which had bounded their 
prospect to the west during the day. Here new and inde- 
scribable scenery opened to their view. Before them, for an 
immense distance, as if spread out on a map, lay the rich and 
beautiful vales, watered by the Kentucky River ; for they 
had now reached one of its northern branches. The country 
immediately before them, to use a western phrase, was 
' rolling,' and in places abruptly hilly ; but far in the vista 
was seen a beautiful expanse of level country, over which 
the buffalo, deer, and other forest animals, roamed unmo- 
lested ; while they fed on the luxuriant herbage of the forest. 
The countenances of the party lighted up with pleasure, con- 
gratulations were exchanged, the romantic tales of Finley 
were confirmed by ocular demonstration, and orders were 
given to encamp for the night in a neighboring ravine. la 



57 

a deep gorge of the mountain, a large tree had fallen, siir- 
rounded with a dense thicket, and hidden fi'om observation 
by the abrupt and precipitous hills. This tree lay in a con- 
venient position for the back of their camp. Logs were 
placed on the right and left, leaving the front open, where 
fire might be kindled against another log ; and for shelter 
from the rains and heavy dews, bark was peeled from the 
linden tree." 



The extract we have given from the narration of 
Boone is too .general. It embraces a time in which 
many incidents of great interest occurred, and wiiich 
conld not be omitted with fidelity to the history. 

From the position which they had taken, which was 
on the Red Kiver — a name which, in the poverty of 
invention, so peculiar to pioneers, was bestowed on 
many streams, from some real or fancied hue of its 
waters — they went at their hunting and observation 
of the country. This river is one of the principal 
branches of the Kentucky. It is thought that this 
locality is in the territory now known as Morgan 
County — receiving its name, by a pleasant coinci- 
dence, from the celebrated partisan ofiicer, who, with 
his three rifle companies, led the forlorn hope under 
Arnold at Quebec, and to whom Virginia presented, 
for his gallantry at the head of his riflemen when at 
the victorious battle of Saratoga, an horse, pistols, and 
a sword. The bufialo thronged the region, as it now 
does the plains of the far west. 



^8 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

A long time elapsed ; — tlie party hunted success- 
fully. It was an easy task to bring the skill and ex- 
pedients of the white man against the beast of the for- 
est, which had not yet learned to avoid them ; and 
Boone and his party found cause to congratulate Fin- 
ley, that the stories with which he had made' the 
dwellings on the Yadkin to thrill, were true — were 
even below the truth. Governor Morehead well re- 
marks, that to none of the pioneers has so little justice 
been done as to Finley, and suggests that Kentucky 
shouM at least perpetuate his remembrance by naming 
a county after him. It would be but just, in that 
great State, to write upon its soil the name of him who 
was her first eulogist. 

These six hunters knew the Indian, his character 
and his traits. As yet, he had not made his appear- 
ance, but this was not considered by them as render- 
ing it certain that he would not come. In all proba- 
bility, their watch for the red man was unremitting. 
In the district between the Guyandot and the Ken- 
tucky Rivers, an Indian village existed. Boone and 
his party were not trespassers on them — a circum- 
stance, the recollection of which is necessary to the 
vindication of his career. 

The treaty at Lochaber, in South Carolina, October 
5, 17Y0, extinguished the Indian claim ; and although 
this is a little subsequent to the date of Boone's expe- 
dition, yet as the Shawanoes had been subjugated by 



INDIAN TREATIES. 59 

the Iroquois, and these had ceded all their claim in 
1768 to the King of Great Britain, the Indian title 
was not of the very best. At Fort Stanwix, the treaty 
between the powerful Iroquois and the powerful King, 
was consummated. This interesting locality, now 
the flourishing village of Eome, in Oneida County, 
"New York, had many incidents of the peaceful and the 
warlike in savage life, in its history. Both Iroquois and 
king were, at the date of this treaty, powerful ; — and 
although the storm that was to ruin both was already 
gathering, it was not yet directly visible. The Indian 
and the sovereign did not dream how futile was their 
partition of the great territory. The Hunter who was 
teaching himself the compass of the woods, and by 
the arts of the chase, preparing to open the march for 
a nation to the seat of empire, was to exert an influ- 
ence, in comparison to which the deliberations of the 
treaty at Stanwix were valueless. Strange are the 
results which time develops. At Fort Stanwix, fifty 
years after the treaty, began the great work which 
has given to the Great West a value which Finley 
and Boone would have been startled to have heard 
computed. 

The hunt and the exploration went on, and still the 
Indian came not, and this prolonged absence of a foe 
they dreaded must have operated on the mind of the 
party, for they divided. K they had not been lulled 
into insecurity by their complete exemption from the 



60 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

visit of the savage, they would have remained to 
gether, so that their united strength would have been, 
in good measure, a defence. Stewart and BoOne 
formed one party, and as by the twigs pulled off cau- 
tiously on an Indian march, prisoners have left trace 
of their route, so from all the minor incidents of 
Boone's career, some judgment may be formed of his 
policy. On the 22d December, they were nigh the 
Kentucky JRiver, probably by the guidance and ad- 
vice of Boone, to know the career and capacity of 
this main stream. 

The quoted story of Boone has already detailed his 
first captivity by the Indians. The defenceless party 
of two was easily taken, and made prisoners, as the 
united six would not have been. It was evident by 
the mode of their capture, that Boone and Stewart 
were not on their guard. When the Indian is looked 
for, a thick cane brake is not passed without a prelim- 
inary and careful reconnoiter. 

Boone had good opportunity now to show of what 
he was made. He was a prisoner, in the hands of 
those to whom mercy was only a capricious visitor, 
and it required a cultivation of sagacity and bravery 
in his conduct, which it is rare to find united. He 
seems at once to have conducted himself so that they 
regarded him as an acquisition to their tribe, and as 
such to be adopted among them. He had that ines- 
timable and rare quality, complete patience — and 



BOONE ESCAPES FEOM THE INDIANS. 61 

could, by neither showing fear or a desire to escape, 
interest even the cunning Indian. It was the first of 
his bold and successful strategies, and his life was to 
know many of them. 

The Indian felt it to be a bitter and deep oflTence, 
that a captive treated with kindness should escape, or 
attempt it. To fail, therefore, was to be subjected to 
the horrors of Indian barbarity ; and although the 
sea-board colonies would have regarded the death of 
their citizen as a thing to be avenged, the avenger re- 
stores not to life. After seven days of captivity, in 
wliich Boone and Stewart had won the confidence of 
the Indian, they all laid down for their customary 
Bleep. The plans that Boone hadi»formed, it was now 
the time to execute. It is very easy for us to talk and 
write about it, but to feel one's life depending on 
the sleep of a group of fierce men, whose passions 
roused knew no mitigation, is a point in experience 
which requires a heart of iron. Stewart was actually 
asleep, for he seems to have been dependent on 
Boone. The latter, rising cautiously from his feigned 
sleep, and looking intently around him, gently awaked 
Stewart, and in a brief word the direction to go was 
given. The sleep of the Indian was sound. When 
he had no wakefulness of war or hunt, he had no 
thought, and the body had full power to sleep. Boone 
and Stew^art succeeded in getting their guns, so as to 
have a chance for at least one desperate fight, if their 



62 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

captors aroused. These men had not learned wood 
craft in vain. Their step was as light as the fall of a 
feather. From amidst these sleeping savages, thej took 
to the wood?. Once there, every moment was a gain, 
and -while every pulsation must have thrilled with ex- 
citement, they made the best of the obscurity and the 
niglit, and made no halt till they believed themselves 
secure. What a security that was ! Hundreds of 
miles away from home and the power of the white 
man, with the savage in revengeful pursuit, they 
sought the party from which they had separated, with 
a vivid realization that an enemy worse than that^ of 
wild beasts needed their energies. 

They found theii»old camp ; but the four compan- 
ions were not at it. Expecting to meet them, and to 
find refuge in their strength, this was a cruel disap- 
pointment. JSTot only were their friends gone, but the 
camp had been despoiled, and thus the traces of an 
enemy were all around them. Here the story of 
John Finley, who first uttered the praises of Ken- 
tucky, ends; and as to what was his fate, or that of 
Holden, Monay and Cool, the records have no entry. 
It would seem unlikely that all these men should have 
been killed by the Indians, for in the subsequent in- 
tercourse with the savages which Boone maintained, 
sometimes peaceful and confidential, it does not seem 
to have been either the boast or narrative of any of 
them, of having destroyed his companions. If they 



BOONE AND STEWART ALONE. 63 

returned to Carolina, as the result in other cases 
shows, on the return of peace, and the acquisition of 
the West, they would have applied for land or gift 
from the government. Deprived of their provision 
and ammunition, it is quite likely that, in the midst 
of the beautiful land his tongue had so lauded, John 
Finley perished of exposure and hunger. If they 
lived and returned, they merged into the monotony 
of every-day life, and failed to establish even a tra- 
ditionary reputation. The saddest fate is the most 
probable. 

Boone and Stewart were now compelled to a close 
organization, and a careful conduct. They were com- 
pelled to go on with the chase for their subsistence, but 
they looked to their guns, also, for defence ; and 
while the food must be secured, the powder must be 
economized. The education of the woods was one 
of inestimable value to these hunters of Kentucky. 

The sad reflections of this comparative solitude 
were soon most gratefully enlivened. Boone, in the 
month of January, found the fears which himself and 
Stewart entertained of two men whom they saw ap- 
proaching, turned into delight, as a nearer view 
showed that one of them was his own brother. There 
was a noble brotherhood about this. Squire Boone 
(the tenth child and the youngest save one of that 
numerous family,) had found one Carolinian willing 



64 LIFE OF DAJ^IEL BOONE. 

to brave the perilous mountain journey, and to searcli 
after bis brother. On came these adventurers, not 
less brave and bold than the party of the six hun- 
ters, tracking their wilderness way as best they could, 
having no friend of whom a question could be safely 
asked, or by whom a direction could be given ; and 
yet, led on by bravery and affection, he and his com- 
panion persevered ; and if the perils of their enter- 
prise could be repaid, they were by the luxury of the 
moment, when he grasped the hand of his living 
brother. Of Boone's family. Squire had all to relate, 
and the history of the wife and children left behind 
was earnestly given and heard, as such tidings would 
be heard by a man who loved his home. Squire 
Boone and his companion (whose name should have 
been preserved,) had started to find his brother alive, 
if possible. It is evident that the people of the set- 
tlements- considered the expedition as a desperate one, 
and that it was most probable that Boone and his 
party were the prey of the savage or the wild beast. 
When Boone saw his brother approaching, his address 
of caution was — " Holloa ! strangers, who are you ? ' 
The welcome answer was — " "White men and friends." 
It was a brief but a very significant dialogue. It is 
difficult to imagine a visit more grateful. It is almost 
as difficult to imagine how Squire found his brother, 
since the wilderness is not supplied with a guide book ; 



65 

and yet, wherever the white man had been, he left his 
mark, and these Squire had successfully watched, 
even to a discovery of the last night's camp. 

There were now four together, the two Boones, 
Stewart, and the friend of Squire. The severe expe- 
riences of the recent captivity, it would seem, should 
have taught the continuation of the same caution 
which had been exercised by Daniel and Stewart. 
But the success of Squire in proceeding unharmed 
through the country, probably emboldened them, and 
led to the imprudence which soon had such fatal 
issue. These four men separated, and as Boone and 
Stewart were on a hunt, which they had extended far 
beyond their camp — (and far beyond, in an hunter's 
language, means, no trifling distance) — the Indians 
suddenly came upon them, and poor Stewart, who had 
shared in the former escape, found his fate in being 
shot down and scalped — the first blood of the white 
man staining the soil, which was afterwards so often 
designated as the Dark and Bloody Ground. It is 
grievous to think of the fate of the daring hunter, 
dying thus by savage hand, while engaged in such 
good service to his fellow men . Boone escaped, spared 
by a good Providence, as destined for a long life of 
usefulness. How he escaped, he has not narrated, 
but it is probable, by the vigor of his movement, 
trained from boyhood to rapid step and long-enduring 
exertion. The story of sorrow was not all told. The 

5 



G6 LIFE OF DANIEL HOONE. 

disseverance of the four worked other fatal results. 
The wretched Carolinian wandered into the wood, and 
was lost. As a skeleton was found long afterwards 
in that region, his fate was supposed to be evidenced 
by it. Thus two bold and daring men led the long 
and mournful army of the multitude, who were to 
lay the foundation of Kentucky in the blood of its 
founders. The two brothers were now, indeed, all 
the world to each other. 

The man who dared to penetrate the wilderness 
when it was a series of known and unknown dangers, 
and the man who accomplished the bold project of a 
successful search after a brother, through equal peril, 
were fit company for each other. It is a beautiful 
picture of fraternal afi'ection, and the name of Squire 
Boone deserves everlasting remembrance. He seems 
to have been of the same noble cast with his elder 
brother, and their struggles for each other would 
have been immortalized in enduring eulogy, if they 
had been of the ancient days. Boone's recital of their 
companionship is very brief, but it indicates union 
and concentration of purpose. These men had a fear- 
ful trial; but there was a mitigation of it in their 
companionship. It was lessening the care, and, 
though it did not diminish the privation, it seemed to 
make it more endurable. They built a cabin, and 
rude enough it must have been, for they had no other 
material — scarcely more than has the eagle for its 



ALONE m Tine WOODS. 67 

<5yrie — the latter having the most advantage of be- 
ing able to place hers where no foe could molest. 
Boone quietly sums up their condition — "a danger- 
ous, helpless situation, exposed daily to perils and 
death, among savages and wild beasts." And yet, in 
all these sorrows, and with all this hazard, he deems 
their happiness to have been surpassed by but few. 
He measured the real wants of nature, and while in 
itself the remark was common-place enough, in those 
circumstances it had a noble meaning. He says he 
often observed to his brother — "You see now how 
little nature requires to be satisfied." This was adorn- 
ing necessity, and it further illustrates the calm and 
quiet character of this great man. His was not a 
mere theory of content, — he kept that light of the 
heart burning, when to the mass of mankind it would 
have been forever extinguished. 

There was no indolence about them. This Boone 
expressly disclaims ; to hunt — to guard their cottage 
against the storm — to provide the moccasin — to kin- 
dle the watch-fire — to prepare such clothing as the 
skin of the deer could furnish — above all, to keep 
an unremitting guard against the Indian, gave them 
occupation enough. Men do not surrender them- 
selves to listlessness when there is a perpetual alarm, 
and danger and ennui cannot exist together. 

And the good Providence of Heaven watched over 
th yoa. During all the winter they were not disturb- 



68 LIFE OF DAI^IEL BOONE. 

ed — not seeing any Indians. This seems strange, for 
in an existence like that of the Indian, wandering 
everywhere, it was very remarkable that the cabin 
of the hunters remained undisturbed. 

It has been said that the intercourse of two individ- 
uals becomes burthensome to each other, if left with 
out any other association — that conversation and 
idea become exhausted — and that they who can exist 
together, instructive and entertaining, having no aid 
from others, must have the varied resources of educa- 
tion, and that in a time of limited duration, even 
these will fail. These men were not educated — - 
probably possessing only the simplest rudiments. 
Indeed, Boone's correspondence evidences this. They 
had their themes in sensible objects around them. 
A long winter of solitude ^vas the test of their adap- 
tation to each other, and it seems to have been safely 
met. It was a true brotherhood — where the tie of 
kindred grew stronger every hour. 

When the spring came, it was time for another 
movement. The spring came early, and the awaking 
to its foliage seemed like the passing from the night 
to the day. The game had reduced their powder and 
lead, and without these there was no existence for the 
white man. Again Daniel Boone rises with the 
emergency. It was necessary that the settlement 
which they had made should be continued and pro- 
tected, and it was the duty, in the progress of events, 



SQUIRE BOONE RETURNS HOME. 69 

that one of them should remain to that task. Pie 
made the selection and chose himself, lie had the 
courage to remain alone ; and while he unquestion- 
ably felt the keenest desire to see his own family, he 
felt that he had a noble purpose to serve, and was 
prepared for it. On May 1, 1Y70, Squire departed 
lor the settlements on the Yadkin. What a journey 
for a man was that, — five hundred miles, and utterly 
alone ! K the elder brother showed strength of 
character in remaining, not less the younger in daring 
this march. "When the parting word was given, it 
must have been more like a farewell to each other 
forever, than the separation for a brief period. There 
were dangers on that road which needed no exagge- 
ration. To pass five hundred miles without a compan- 
ion to encourage, cheer, or defend, was a keen trial 
to the realities of courage ; but Squire had this bless- 
ed hope before him, that each day's journey brought 
him nearer to his home — that the five hundred 
miles were passing away each day under his deter- 
mined and quick step, and that the ordeal was be- 
coming less terrible each day. He pushed boldly 
forward — and the elder l)rother remained alone. 



CHAPTEE lY. 

. m 

BOONE ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS DEPRIVATION HIS OWN NARRATITa 

HIS BROTHER RETURNS WITH SUPPLIES AND HORSES NEWS FROM HIS 

FAMILY EXTRACT FROM GOV. MOREHEAD's ADDRESS THE TWO BROTHERS 

EXPLORE THE COUNTRY AND DETERMINE TO LOCATE LTPON THE KENTUCKY 

BIVER THEY RETURN HOME WONDER OF HIS NEIGHBORS AT SEEING 

DANIEL THEY ARE DETERRED FROM EMIGRATING BY FEAR OK THE INDIANS 

DANIEL AND SQUIRE BOONE, WITH THEIR FAMILIES, REMOVE TO KEN- 
TUCKY. 

Daniel Boone was now alone, the only being in 
all that vast country of his race and kind. His nar- 
rative states it simply, and therefore most interest- 
ingly — for occasionally the old man's language seems 
to have escaped the transformation of his pompous 
amanuensis — " One by myself — without bread, salt 
or sugar — without company of any fellow creatures, 
or even a horse or dog." Collins, in his Historical 
Sketches of Kentucky, says that Boone spent the 
winter of 1T69-70 in a cave on the waters of Shawa- 
nee, in Mercer county, and that a tree, marked with 
his name, is yet standing at the mouth of the cave. 
If it be so, may the " woodman spare that tree." 

This is a crisis in the history of this man, and the 
fact is greatly characteristic of him. It indicates 



71 

how mucli the man intended, when he told Filson 
that he was " an instrument ordained to settle the 
wilderness." With this conviction before him, all 
sacrifice was to be made. He believed that he had 
within him the destiny of guiding the settler to a new 
home — of extending to the enterprising and adven- 
turous a wider sphere ; and acting on this, he felt 
that what would have been a wild and dangerous 
path to other men, was that which he would follow 
wherever it presented itself in this duty. Too sim- 
ple hearted to cherish the strange belief in his " star," 
as the greater and the lesser l^apoleon have in our 
times, he yet concentrated in himself a resolution 
which was better and more enduring than all fancied 
stellar influences. The first great step had been taken 
when he dared the wilderness at the head of his fated 
six. The mysterious providences of Heaven had re- 
duced these to himself, and even those who had sought 
and found him, had now left him. He was alone, as 
few other men have ever been. Then it was that the 
great empire — thronged, prosperous, powerful, which 
has followed — existed but in One Man. 

The reader will recollect that Boone entered on this 
solitary life with a full knowledge of its perils. He 
was, if recaptured, a doomed captive, for he had 
slighted, as the Indian thought, his kindness. Of the 
seven white men whom he had seen since he left the 
Yadkin, one had been openly murdered by the sava» 



72 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ges, and all the probabilities were that the same fate, 
or death by starvation or the wild beast, had befallen 
the other five. He was sure of the existence only of 
his brother; and even to him, had just been allotted 
the dangers of a terrible journey through the wilder- 
ness — a wilderness extending the half of a thousand 
miles. 

This courage to be alone took the fancy of the great 
poet of our age, and Byron wove into his superb verse, 
his eulogy on the Hunter. Yet Boone never appears 
to have yielded to what is too often the companion of 
solitude — moroseness. 

" Severe, not sullen, was his solitude." 

At this period Boone was in the best days of his 
life. His age was thirty-six, and he had given, by 
exercise and vigorous employment, a strength to his 
frame which fitted him for his peculiar duty. He is 
described by various writers as being five feet ten 
inches in height, robust, clean limbed, and athletic, 
fitted by his habit and temperament, and by his phy 
sique, for endurance — a bright eye, and a calm de- 
termination in his manner. Alone in his cabin — the 
coming Kentucky his hunting ground, not a man like 
him within hundreds of miles — he gently tells us, 
in his narrative, that he " passed a few days uncom- 
fortably," — and he assigns as his chief reason, that 
he felt much anxiety for his beloved wife and family, 



DEPBIVATIOK. 73 

and for what would be their sorrows. They were sur- 
rounded by the guards and kindness of society. He 
had no semblance of either, and yet the man looked 
calmly on the forest around him, and only mourned 
w^hen he remembered the circle of his home. 

There is something of marked interest in the speci- 
fication which he gives, as the summary of his con- 
dition, that he was without " bread, or salt, or sugar." 
Cavalier, trader and pilgrim, as they successively stood 
upon the shores of James River, the Hudson, and at 
Plymouth, believing themselves shut out from man- 
kind, turned to no such deprivation of the very pri- 
mary necessities of life ; and yet not necessities, for 
his strong frame endured their want. This was no 
sudden deprivation. He knew that during all the 
absence of his brother, which must necessarily be 
very long, even with all their best hoj^e, he would 
have none of the ordinary enjoyments of sense. Like 
the feigned Dervish, in the Corsair, 

"Salt seasons dainties, and, my food is still 
The simplest herb — the water from the rill." 

He confesses, for such is his form of expression, that 
he had occasion to use both philosophy and fortitude. 
Filson gave him here a large word for a simple mean- 
ing. Boone's philosophy, (if, indeed, before his aman- 
uensis mentioned it, he had ever heard of the word,) 
was of a sect which has few disciples. Tlie number 



74 LIFE OF DAKIEL BOONE. 

of those wlio devote tliemsolves to a great purpose, 
and concentration — resign tlie immediate for the fu- 
ture — is very small. Boone in his solitnde was not, 
in his philosophy, like the Indian, who is a stoic be- 
cause his range of thought ceases, and to bear and to 
endure is all that he knows ; — but he knew that pri- 
vation was, in his case, a necessity of condition, and 
that, borne manfully now, he saw the good end coming 
■ — and that it was, unconsciously, a high order of phi- 
losophy. But he tells his own story well, and it is of 
deep interest : 

" I confess I never before was under greater necessity of 
exercising philosophy and fortitude. A few days I passed 
uncomfortably. The idea of a beloved wife and family, and 
their anxiety upon the account of my absence, and exposed 
situation, made sensible impressions on my heart. A thou- 
sand dreadful apprehensions presented themselves to my view 
and had undoubtedly disposed me to melancholy, if farther 
indulged. One day I undertook a tour through the country, 
and the diversity and beauties of nature I met with in this 
charming season, expelled every gloomy and vexatious 
thought. Just at the close of day the gentle gales retired, 
and left the place to the disposal of a profound calm. Not 
a breeze shook the most tremulous leaf. I had gained the 
summit of -a commanding ridge, and looking round with as- 
tonishing delight, beheld the ample plains, the heauteous 
tracts below. On the other hand, I surveyed the famous 
river Ohio, that rolled in silent dignity, marking the western 
boundary of Kentucky with inconceivable grandeur. At a 
vast distance I beheld the mountains lift their venerable 
brows, and penetrate the clouds. All things were still ; I 



nrs OWN NAliRATIVE. 75 

kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet water, anv^ feasted on 
the loin of a buck, which a few hours before I had killed. 
The sullen shades of night soon overspread the whole hem- 
isphere, and the earth seemed to gasp after the hovering 
moisture. 

" My roving excursion this day, had fatigued my body and 
diverted my imagination. I laid me down to sleep, and 
awoke not until the sun had chased away the night. I con- 
tinued this tour, and in a few days, explored a considerable 
part of the country, each day equally pleased as the first. I 
returned to my old camp, which was not disturbed in my 
absence. I did not confine my lodging to it, but often re- 
posed in thick cane-brakes, to avoid the savages, who I believe 
often visited my camp, but fortunately for me, in my absence. 
In this situation I was constantly exposed to danger and 
death. How unhappy such a situation for a man tormented 
with fear, which is vain if no danger comes, a^ad if it does, 
only augments the pain. It was my happiness to be desti- 
tute of this afflicting passion, with which I had the greatest 
reason to be affected." 

A great soldier monarch once asked what fear was 
— a question which, however made memorable by 
the plaudits of the Courtj was in all probability safely 
asked, amid warriors and armament and strong de- 
fence. Boone quietly says he was destitute of it, and 
it is certainly an amusing illustration that he immedi- 
ately after describes the wolves as " diverting his noc- 
turnal hours with their perpetual howlings." If the 
bravery of Boone were not an established and undis- 
puted fact, that declaration would seem boastful ; but 



76 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

he liad sounded the depth of forest life, and had con 
sidered the weight of all it had to oifer. The unbro- 
ken wilderness character of the country is illustrated 
by his remark, that the " various species of animals 
in the vast forest were continually in view." These 
creatures could have seen but little of man, or they 
wouIg^. have learned the indications of his habitation 
and avoided it. He declares he was happy amidst 
danger ; that he had plenty in the midst of want, and 
that he could not be melancholy. There is reason 
here to suppose that Filson, rather than Boone, framed 
this remark. Boone had too much strong sense to 
have any oAier feeling than patience amidst the scenes 
of his solitude, and when Filson goes on to cause him 
to declare his loneliness " an uninterrupted scene of 
sylvan pleasures " — thp very straining after effect in 
the choice of a word utterly unlike the language of 
the woodsman. Constant exposure to danger and 
death — a habitation which he states had been dis- 
covered by the savages — the necessity of such strat- 
agem as the resort at night to the cane-brake rather 
than to take the risk of being found in his cabin — 
all these have no " sylvan pleasure " in them. And 
yet, he felt secure enough to brave the perils of an 
exploring tour, and saw more of the land he was main- 
taining for the white man. He saw the Ohio, and 
unquestionably, from the results of his tour, strength- 
ened his determination to brave all perils to establish 



RETURN OF HIS BROTHER. 77 

the home of his fellow citizens in a land of such de- 
light. 

For three months he was alone. It was an ordeal 
through which few men conld liave passed. To many 
it wonld have been the means of weakening the mind, 
but in Boone it only seems to have renewed his ener- 
gies. It was remarked of him, that when in his great- 
est vigor he was distinguished for his taciturnity — 
dwelling in his own internal converse. It was a part 
of his wilderness education. In the three months 
that no response awaited his word, he learned how 
much the thought could speak. 

The summer sun was in its fierceness, when this 
long solitude was broken. That noble hearted brother 
returned — a return, as was his journey, more like 
the creation of the romancer, than a veritable history. 
He had fully and faithfully kept his promise. ISTot only 
had he once found his brother, but, to benefit him and 
the great cause of mankind, he had ventured thus, 
the third time, to track his way over the many and 
the weary miles. The engagement he made to bring 
fresh supplies of whatever was most necessary, he 
also remembered, and this first transportation train — 
this pair of horses laden with provision — the heralds 
of that mighty caravan from East to West which, 
within the life-time of Boone's children, is, in all the 
rapidity of car and coach, sail and steam, pouring 
the wealth of the se^-board to the interior, only to be 



78 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

reladen witli its treasures in return — this pioneer 
carrier brought to the cabin of Boone what was more 
precious than a burthen of gold dust would have been. 
Best of all, it brought news that Rebecca still kept 
undiminished courage ; that health was theirs ; and 
that the energetic wife and mother had been enabled 
to keep the household comfortably,. It cannot be but 
that there were liours of rapid converse between these 
brothers. The Hunter had saved, not lost, his words ; 
and of home, of Carolina — of the thrilling tidings of 
the movements at Boston — of the more than mur- 
muring at Britain's rule — that cabin heard long 
discourse. 

They now had horses, to them invaluable, and, as 
thej well knew, would be considered by the Indians 
as a great prize. They could not conceal them. The 
horse would make himself manifest, the moment his 
instinct taught him a human being was near ; and 
the stratagems and sagacities by which the hunters 
could, at night or day, avoid and outwit the Indian, 
they could not teach their animals. From the sure 
indications that their cabin had been visited by the 
savage, they reasoned well that in the chase after 
occasional herds of the buffalo, they and their horses 
would be very likely to grace a wigwam. 

Governor Morehead dwells upon the boldness of 
Squire Boone, in returning after his brother, and 
thinks that it was confidence in hie destiny, 



TIIEY EXPLORE THE COUNTRY. 79 

" Which not all the skill of Daniel Boone, accomplished 
as he was in the arts of Indian warfare, could justify. Mira- 
cles were not wrought in the eighteenth century, to assure 
mankind of a Divine agency in human affairs ; and who 
could have supposed that any other doom but that of exter- 
mination, awaited the bold usurper of the Indian hunting 
ground — wandering, from preference of a hunter's life, com- 
panionless, in a distant and savage wilderness — depending 
upon his rifle for food — upon the beasts of the forest for rai- 
ment — and for personal safety, upon the subtlety wdth which 
h-e avoided danger, and the valor and dexterity with which, 
when present, he repelled it — above all, marked and hunted 
as a victim by artful and fiend-like foes, instigated to ven- 
geance by a keen sense of wroug inflicted by the invasion of 
a favorite domain, from which they had not yet been driven 
by the power of the white man ? Yet Daniel Boone had to 
act his part in the future conquest of Kentucky ; and fi'om 
the period of his brother's return, until the ensuing spring, 
the self-exiled hunters continued to explore the country, giv- 
ing names in their progress to the diflTerent rivers, and in 
March, 1771, retraced their steps to North Carolina, with a 
determination to bring their families, as soon as practicable, 
to the wilderness," 

They explored the country between Cumberland 
and Greene rivers, finding there those strange re- 
sults of a soil in which the limestone is in abun- 
dance and cavernous — the sink-holes^ as they are de- 
signated — depressions which have been wrought by 
the water. Iteturning to the Kentucky River in 
March, 1771, they determined that that should be tha 
place of their fixed settlement. The exemption of 



80 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOJfE. 

these men from assault by the Indians, during all this 
long period of eight months, in which, armed and on 
horseback, they seem to have roamed just where they 
chose, is most wonderful. It has something about it 
which seems like a special interposition beyond the 
ordinary guardianship over the progress of man. On 
the safety of these men rested the hope of a nation. 
Their defeat, their captivity, their death, would have 
chilled the vigor of enterprise. A very distinguished 
authority declares, that without Boone, the settle- 
ments could not have been upheld, and the conquest 
of Kentucky would have been reserved for the emi- 
grants of the nineteenth century. 

At last the time arrived at which Boone, believing 
that he was completely conversant with the country, 
that he knew of its value, and of the means to possess 
it, and the perils which awaited the possessor, deter- 
mined to return home. He had not forgotten it; 
never lost sight of it; never ceased to think of it, as 
the place which his exertions were to benefit. It 
was not the least of the motives to impel him, how- 
ever, that he could assist, in his journey, his gallant 
brother who had dared so much for him ; though as 
Squire had accomplished the journey three times, it 
-'s quite probable he proved of great use to his brother. 
Boone says that in returning liome, it was his deter- 
mination to bring his family to Kentucky, which he 
esteemed a second Paradise, even at the risk of lif© 



BOONE AREINTES HOME. 81 

and fortune. Undoubtedly he acted on determination. 
It had been of the plans formed during the long soli- 
tude of the winter, that she and they who had limited 
possession on the Yadkin, should possess the broad 
acres, the glades, the ricli land that lay out to the 
sun, ready to be taken and held by the strong arm. 

He sums up the incidents of his journey in a very 
brief sentence. All he says of it, is, " I returned safe 
to my old habitation, and found my family in happy 
circumstances." That wilderness tour — five hundred 
miles — the two brothers skilled horsemen, — noted 
hunters — all this deserved detailed record. But it 
was sufficient for Boone to act. He left his fame to 
take care of itself. Undoubtedly they felt fearless, 
for their rifles and their horses gave them a power 
which the Indian dreaded. Home they came, and 
if ever traveler was welcomed, it was the long absent 
Hunter. 

It was the embodiment of the fable, so often con- 
ceived and told, of the reappearance of the lost one. 
To the frontier men of the Yadkin, the coming of 
Boone among them was a new era. It opened their 
range of thought. He had discovered and returned 
with the evidences of his acquisition. The road to 
the land of which poor Finley had spoken, was de- 
fined, for Squire had traversed it four several times 
in little more than one year. The mountain had 
ceased to be a barrier. The stories of impenetrable 
D* 6 



82 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

fastness and invincible forest were obsolete. Their 
own neighbors had lived unmolested for almost two 
years, in the midst of the rich country, in comparison 
to which their mountain land was but a poor abode. 
Boone doubtless preserved his quiet and silent charac- 
ter, but if he ever yielded, it must have been when 
the population of the Yadkin border rushed to see 
the man whose career had been so eventful, even in 
this portion of it, as to make his presence among 
them a wonder. Such journeys have all their vivid 
interest when first taken. It is around the man who 
has begun the great enterprises of life, that the keen- 
est curiosity centers. Boone returned to his home, 
not like Rip Yan Winkle, from a slumber, but like 
Columbus, from a discovery. To none could that 
home visit have been as precious, as to the wife who 
had so long waited and watched for him. She felt 
the reward of her toil and the recompense of her 
anxieties. Nor are these words lightly written. She 
survived to a good old age, and a faithful narrator 
speaks of her nature as generous and heroic ; and to 
such a heart, how delightful must have been the day 
which brought back to her her bold, and brave, and 
admirable protector. 

The determination formed amid the counselings 
together at the cabin in the wilderness, was not easily 
reduced to direct action, when it was subjected to the 
deliberations of home. It was not a trifle to prepare 



PREPARATIONS FOR RETURNING. 83 

the minds of a woman and her children to go where 
none of her sex, that were influenced by the tender- 
ness and comforts of civilization had ever been, and 
what she might have taken as her duty readily for 
her husband's sake, received a new reading when 
viewed as it might affect her children. Daniel and 
Squire could easily move off, as they had before — but 
the elder of the daring brothers had wider purposes 
than merely to take a family to a new home. He 
wanted to make a sure and steadfast event of the 
possession of the noble domain of Kentucky by the 
white man. The farm was to be sold ; there were 
varied arrangements to make to give solidity to the 
enterprise ; and above all, the population were to be 
leavened with the desire to possess the glorious in- 
heritance. There were other causes which made 
delay the most obvious. It was from this neighbor- 
hood that Stewart, and Cool, and Ilolden, and Monay, 
and the gallant Finley, had left for the same land to 
w^hich Boone was persuading them. Where were 
they f Where was the man that accompanied Squire 
Boone when he first went out ? Tlieir fate was in 
mystery, or, in all probability, the certainty of their 
destruction was the only revealing yet to be made. 
The Boones had indeed gone and returned in safety, 
but they were the exceptions to the general rule. It 
was a noble prize to win, but the hazards and dan- 
gers seemed fearful. 



84 LIFE OF DAKIEL BOOKH, 

But beyond all, Daniel Boone moved witli the ac- 
curacy with which great men make their plans snre, 
and this patiently abiding two years before he left to 
accomplish the great ptirpose of his heart, elucidates 
his character. It is the truly great man who '' in his 
patience possesses " himself. To wait, is an attribute 
of those who see beyond the first page of action, which 
is about all the ordinary man compasses. If Boone 
had been a grasping, mercenary trader, he would 
have hurried, lest some keener venturer should dare 
the peril for the sake of the plunder. If he had been 
a brutal, coarse man, a mere Indian fighter, his regard 
for the mild and defenceless, for wife and children, 
would have been small. He would have commanded 
a reluctant obedience, and gone out like a Tartar 
chief. But this is perhaps as suitable a place, in this 
biography, as any other, to say, that the general, ill- 
informed opinion that Boone was a sort of corsair of 
the woods, living on Indian battle as his most cher- 
ished pursuit, is erroneous. Boone was the man who 
dared when daring was necessary in duty ; but his 
was the quiet, fixed purpose that, having its serious 
work, its ordination of settlement, to do, fought only 
when it was required to clear the way or to defend. 
He had too much true courage to be the reckless In- 
dian killer. He was rather a mild but firm con- 
queror. Two years the people on the Yadkin delibe- 
rated and prepared, and Boone found much that re- 



THEY C0MMEN(;E THE JOtJENET. bD 

quired liis strong will. It was something to prove to 
himself that it was wise and kind to take them to the 
land of the wild beast and the scalping knife ; to live - 
where the presence of any other than the white man 
might be the signal for desolation and massacre. 

The calm recital of Boone had made its way to the 
people. A movement was now making to give him, 
when he started, a company of fellow travellers, far 
beyond, in power and numbers, the Six who had left 
for the same land a few years before. To go to the 
new country may have been considered as even more 
perilous, at this time, than when Boone iirst went. It 
could not but have impressed the settlers that a scene 
of very great difficulty was likely to arise in the whole 
country. It was in the year 1773, and slow as tidings 
in those days traveled, the recital of the increasing 
dissensions at Boston must have been familiar. These 
people knew the savages well, and had the best rea- 
sons for supposing, that in the event of a war, the In 
dian would find it good ground of quarrel, that a 
stranger came into their hunting ground, if, indeed, 
they needed even the pretext. 

But the hour for parting arrived at last, and on the 
twenty-fifth of September, 1773, Daniel and Squire 
Boone left the Yadkin — their families accompanying 
■ — strong in resolution. They had taken care to pro- 
vide themselves with cattle — with whatever would 
surest make a comfortable home for them — and espe 



86 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



ciall J did tliey not forget to take with them four good 
horses. Boone knew, as thousands of gallant Kentucki- 
ans have since his day, that there was a good and 
abundant pasturage for stock in his new found coun- 
try. They left the Yadkin, where, since they had 
parted from their native Pennsylvania, they had found 
a home. The Eastern States have sent out vast com- 
panies of emigrants, but never any in whose fortune 
more for the future was concentrated. Boone had 
succeeded in starting the acquisition and conquest of 
Kentucky, and this was a great work begun. 




CHAPTER V. 

THE JOURNEY FIVE FAMILIES AND FORTY MEN JOIN THE BOON"ES AT I'OW- 

ELL's valley A PARTY OF THE EMIGRANTS ARE ATTACKED BY INDIANS 

BOONe's SON AND FIVE OTHERS KILLED THE COMPANY TURN BACK TO THE 

SETTLE^SIENTS ON CLINCH RIVER THE LONG HUNTERS VIRGINIA GRANTS 

LAND IN KENTUCKY TO THE SOLDIERS OF THE FRENCH WAR THEY LEARN 

THE CHARACTER OF THE LAND FROM BOONE LORD DUNMORE ORDERS A 

SURVEY THE EXPEDITION BOONe's REPORTS CONFIRMED HERDS OF 

BUFFALO SURVEYORS REACH THE PRESENT LOCATION OF HARRODSBURG 

AND LOUISVILLE LORD DUNMORE SENDS FOR BOONE RESCUE OF THE 

SURVEYORS. 

The great joiirnej thus pleasantly begun, had one 
more most gratifying incident. Snch had been the 
influence of what Boone had said and done, and es- 
peciall}^ the latter, that at Powell's Yalley he found 
himself surrounded by a reinforcement of ^ve fami- 
lies and forty men, well armed. The Indians might 
read a lesson in the latter fact. This company was 
now a strong one. It had for its leader the best hun- 
ter of the New World — the man who could see and 
find and do all that the savage could, and beyond 
him, had the arts and wisdom of the white man. 
They had horses and cattle — female society — the 
combined means and strength of a respectable force. 



88 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 

They were in the best condition for a journey, and it 
is quite likely that when the party started, thus in- 
creased, for the Mountain, Boone felt that he was al- 
ready repaid for his trials and sufferings. The emi- 
grants little thought to what a dark and bloody book 
this gathering of the cavalcade was the preface. A 
writer (Peck, in Sj^arks' American Biography,) accu- 
rately describes the encampment of such a party, as 
" near some spring or water course, where temporary 
shelters are made by placing poles in a sloping posi- 
tion, with one end resting on the ground, the other 
elevated in forks. On these, tent-cloth, prepared for 
the purpose, or articles of bed covering, are stretched. 
The fire is kindled in front, against a fallen tree or 
log, towards which the foot is placed while sleeping. 
The clothing worn at day is seldom removed at 
night." The knowledge of Squire Boone in this jour- 
ney was invaluable. He had become familiar with 
the route — its weary and its winning ways, and 
where the best resting places for the night could be 
found. He probably knew well the wide natural 
way, now known as the Cumberland Gap — the door 
left by Nature for the use, not so much of the hunter, 
as for the great achievements of our own day, when 
engineering under similar circumstances finds that all 
has been done which art can here desire or hope. 

The three great States, Yirginia, Kentucky and 
Tennessee, lie near in conjunction to this Pass. Squire 



ATTACKED BY THE INDIANS. 89 

must have marked the journey he had made minutely.- 
lie had traversed it alone, and had leisure then to 
place indelibly on his memory the great features of the 
road, that is, if their way could be considered as a road. 
They were approaching the Gap. To get over the 
mour.tains was their cherished purpose. Once over, 
they would see for themselves whether Finley's glow- 
ing stories had been true, as the Boones declared they 
found them to be. 

The march had been uninterrupted. They had 
passed the ridge known as Walden's, when seven of 
their young men fell back ; courageous, not fearing 
separation, but most un^visely as the sad event proved. 
They had the care of the stock, and perhaps it was to 
collect the scattered ones that they had gone away 
from the main body. As no enemy had been seen, 
the concentration of danger had not been enforced, 
though it was a bitter error that it was not. Boone 
had one of his sons in the group who had gone out of 
line. The company were not entirely easy in their 
absence, and when they heard sounds proceeding from 
the quarter where the wanderers were, indicating con- 
flict, there was a rush to their rescue. It was too late. 
The Indians had come suddenly upon the seven, un- 
prepared as they were by any knowledge or sign oi 
their approach. The fight was a massacre. Out ot 
the seven, six were killed. One succeeded in an es- 
cape. When Boone and those who rushed to tho 



90 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

scene reached tliere, for there were several miles be- 
tween them, he saw his own son among those who 
had fallen. Such was the first severe lesson of loss 
in which Boone's eventful history was writing itself. 

His bo}^ was seventeen — his eldest boy^ — undoubt- 
edly fully competent to be an aid and companion to 
his father, as he had been a solace and protect- 
or to his mother. It was James Boone who thus 
fell in the struggle to obtain a foothold in the wil- 
derness. His courage is evidenced by his having 
been willing to separate himself thus far from the main 
troop, and his father's confidence in him is equally 
shown. This severe calamity, almost the most severe 
that could have fallen to Boone's fate, was a dreadful 
crisis. It was arresting the high hope of the emi- 
grants, and, by the saddest of trials, teaching them 
how true all their fears of danger in crossing the 
mountain were. The tenth of October was the day 
on which this occurred, and thus, in the brief space of 
fourteen days, the entire prospect and plan of the first 
great party of settlers was changed. The Indians, 
having done the evil, were easily defeated. Proba- 
bly they would not have ventured the attack, if the 
young men had been with the Hunter; but as they 
found these boys without aid or protection, it whs 
characteristic of the savage to avail himself of the 
weakness of those to whom his enmity was every 
hour increasing. The sad task of the burial of the 



THE EXrJODlTlON TURNS BACK. 91 

dead was performed in sorrow. This blow had not 
fallen alone on Boone. With Ms son five others died. 
Boone, with emphatic phrase, calls it. " a clond of ad- 
versity." It was a dark one ; one that fell upon the 
expedition just as it was assuming every appearance 
of being destined for the very happiest results. But 
it was one of those periods of sadness which have 
their part in moulding the character of men. The bar 
was in the furnace, and from it Boone seems to have 
come forth with less injury than most or any other 
prominent man of his condition. 

The expedition turned back ! It was a dreadful 
end to a beginning replete with all that energy and 
enterprise and experience could furnish. What Boone 
was, is shown by this. If he had been a mere fighter, 
a brawler, a half civilized frontier ranger, he would 
not have listened to the gentle sorrows of the bereaved 
mother, or the sadness and despondency of neighbors 
and townsmen. It cannot escape the attention of the 
observer, that while in almost every narration of the 
incidents of the lives of the men of the frontier, the 
desire for revenge for every foray and incursion seems 
paramount, in Boone's case — severe as were the suc- 
sessive experiences which he encountered, of the In- 
dian in his ferocious midnight walks of search after 
life — he seems to have been calm and mild ; ener- 
getic for defence, but not active or zealous for the 
blood of those who had injured him. 



92 LIFE OF DAJTIEI. BOONE. 

Tlie trial to the wife of Daniel Boone was severe 
indeed. Her husband had organized this expedition. 
It was to follow the bold path that he had carved out. 
that they were come. Since the head of her family 
had taken up the thread of that bold destiny that 
pointed to the glorious land beyond the mountain 
barrier, her home had been almost a widowed one. 
Sadder, indeed, for if Boone had died, the event 
would have been certain, and Time, the great Healer 
of human woe, would have interposed ; but in the se- 
paration of successive months, when not a word was 
to be heard, it was suffering all the pangs of hope de- 
ferred in its keenest ill. And now, when she had de- 
termined no longer to be separated, the gratulation at 
being at his side was lost in the bitter grief for the 
loss of her manly and beloved child. 

Boone was on his way to what he deemed (for such 
are his words in relation to it) " a second paradise." 
That in all its experiences of wild man and wild beast, 
solitude and semi-starvation, he should have found it 
in his heart thus to speak of it, indicates the strong 
concentration of his purposes — the iron will, deter- 
mined in its end but prudent in its exertion. When, 
years afterwards, Boone was relating to his extraordi- 
nary secretary, Filson, this sad episode in his life, he 
speaks of it briefly, but there is a directness in the 
narrative, which sufficiently indicates how great an ob- 



THE CONSULTATION. &8 

stacle to the immediate prosecution of the enterprise, 
this calamity involved. 

The consultation which the company held immedi- 
ately on the occurrence of this disaster, was in sight 
of the graves of six of their nearest and dearest, and 
although it is stated that Squire and Daniel, and a 
few others, were in favor of proceeding, and accom- 
plishing the mountain passage, the majority were 
against them, and the retreat was determined. The 
emigrants were not so utterly disheartened as to re- 
turn altogether to their old homes, but to the settle- 
ments on the Clinch River, so that Virginia received 
them ; a circumstance which may have been, in view 
of the events which followed, of much importance. 
In the review, it is strange that men so powerful, who 
had proved the ways of the wilderness, and had 
known savage life in all its phases, should have so 
peacefully agreed to return. They must have known 
that their discovery was now likely to be anticij^ated, 
and the incident is abundant in its proof that the 
great Pioneer possessed the complete mastery over 
himself, in his quiet waiting for the future. 

The principal ranges of the Allegany, which they 
had been about to pass, were Powell, Walden and 
Cumberland. Stretching fron the north-east to the 
south-west, they made the great wall which had been, 
by the settlers at the East, invested with terrors which 
this band of pioneers had just so signally proved were 



94 LTFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

not imaginary. The mother had told her boy of thft 
dangers of the fierce and wandering Indian, who, in 
vhe passes of these ranges, stood ready to destroy 
whoever might be so bold as to venture ; and when 
first Squire and afterwards Daniel Boone had safely 
and successfully found their way over, and had kin- 
dled the enterprise of the frontier by their narration 
of the glorious land that was to be won, the child 
was convinced that the fear of the mother had paint- 
ed a foe that did not exist. Fearfully had the child 
learned how true was the instinct that taught the 
mother to dread the journey over the mountain. The 
mountains themselves, divested of the peril of man 
and beast, were so wild and rugged as to give scope 
to all the fear of the traveler. Boone says (and hw 
was not of the stuff of which vain fears are made) 
that " the aspect of these cliffs is so wild and horrid, 
that it is impossible to behold them without terror." 
The experiences of the brothers in their journey had 
been of vast advantage. Aided by this pilotage, the 
party had successfully gained the most elevated — 
Waldens — when the attack of the Indians suddenly 
changed all their purposes, and induced the retreat- 
to Clinch River, from which, it is most probable, many 
of the party never again issued forth. The settle- 
ment on Clinch River had been of some duration, and 
the number of families who had made this their home, 
gave it a strength where security was felt. 



THE LONG HUNTERS. 95 

The famous company of Long Hunters had, in 1771, 
two years previous to this incident in the narrative, 
taken into this western region a hunt of such dura 
tion that they who participated in it were designated 
by the above name. These were Casper Mauser, 
whose hunting experiences had been extensive, James 
Knox, John Montgomery, Isaac Bledsoe, and others. 
One or two other parties had traversed far into the 
wilderness, sometimes threading the woods, and in 
other cases, using the waters of the rivers for the pur- 
poses of their exploration.- The staple commodity 
of those days was furs, venison, and bear's meat. 
These began the great trade which now uses to its 
utmost capacities all the energies of Commerce. 

The vicinity of the Great Rivers were sooner known, 
for the ingenuity of the white man, in his better 
knowledge of the means of traversing the water, gave 
\iim facilities beyond those which the simple skill of 
the Indian could compass. 

It was the great boldness in all these enterprises to 
attack the wilderness. Here the man was left to his 
own energies, without the friendly assistance of the 
rapid current of a river, that bore him onward beyond 
the pursuit of the savage. Here it was that Boone 
evinced his sublime coura2:e. He called the lone w^il- 
derness, where for months no aid or sympathy was 
within his reach, a paradise, and proved himself one of 



96 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

those sages, who Cowper tells us, have found u charm 
m solitude. 

Daniel Boone was now recognized as the discoverer 
of Kentucky ; the discoverer, not as he is so styled 
who, by the accident of wind and tide may find the 
prow of his vessel upon a land hitherto unknown, 
but as having determined by the heroism and bravery 
of his experiences, and the intelligence of his obser- 
vation, what beauty and what bounty had been spread 
out there awaiting the march of empire. The hunter 
boy who had learned the power of the rifle in the 
woods which adjoined Eeading, (in our flay how un- 
like the place that taught forest-craft to the woods- 
man !) was now admitted to have been the guide of 
his country towards the great possession which the 
savage used f)ut to abuse, and which were of all lands 
most suitable for the triumphs of civilization. The 
description which Boone had given of the inexhaust- 
ible fertility of the soil, had awakened the keen atten- 
tion of Carolina and Yirginia. If the country was 
such as the Pioneer had delineated it, it was to be 
grasped, and he would be fortunate who secured a 
home there. 

We are accustomed, at this period, to speak of the 
Revolutionary struggle as the Old War. The con- 
flicts of 1812 and 1846 have, by their recent date, 
thrown the others far back, almost into history ; but 
to our fathers, the strife that immediately preceded 



VIRGINIA PASSES BOUNTY LAWS. 97 

the Eevolution bore the title of the Old War. With 
us, it is now best known as the French "War. It was 
the last time in which we bore a foreign banner in 
the field, or graced the Crown by Colonial bravery. 

In that war the best blood of Virginia had mingled. 
Our own Washington learned then the lessons of 
martial knowledge, which he so eminently used, when 
directing his skill against the sway of the monarch, 
in whose ranks he had so bravely fought under Brad- 
dock. Virginia had sent out her troops, who had 
done good service, and the Colony, for such service, 
had very properly voted a remuneration in bounty 
lands. Tliese had been located — for it was very easy 
for the Colonial government, to declare the statutory 
possession of land, on the Kentucky. The counsel- 
ors who, at the seat of government of the Ancient 
Dominion, felicitated themselves that they had so gen- 
erously remembered the soldier, did not stop to 
think that it would require the bravery of a campaign 
to get possession of the gift. Of what this land was, 
Boone had told them. They had an indefinite idea 
where they were, but their duties ended in the law 
They told the soldier what they had given him. It 
was for him to arrive there. ISTor is this extraordi- 
nary The history of the " Military iract " of West- 
ern Kew York would furnish equal instances of the 
distinction between ownership by law and by actual 
possession. 

E 7 



98 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

But the Government of Yirginia did net quite con 
tent itself with passing the bounty hivvs. Governor 
Dunmore sent — relying on the great fact that Boone 
had been able to maintain and sustain himself there 
alone — a party of surveyors to give some form and 
shape to the donations to the soldiery. 

Lord Dunmore was then the governor of Virginia, 
succeeding Lord Botetourt. The attention of this 
nobleman had been attracted to the great capabilities 
of the West, and in 1T72, he made all the arrange- 
ments for a visit thither, in the companionship of 
George Washington, when the latter was unexpect- 
edly compelled to give up the enterprise, so welcome 
to him, by the death of young Custis. 

It is of vivid interest here to recall the facts which 
show how much Kentucky owes to Washington, in 
the preparation of the train of events which led to its 
settlement. The extract we give from the admirable 
life, by Sparks, of the great Yirginian, will show that 
it was to his energy that the soldiers of the French 
War were chiefly indebted for their land — his scruj)u- 
lous and careful justice providing for all. 

" hi the midst of his public engagements, another affair, 
extremely vexatious in its details, employed much of his 
attention. The claims of the officers and soldiers to lands, 
granted by Governor Dinwiddie, as a reward for their servi- 
ces at the begining of the French war, met with innumerable 
obstacles for a long time, first from the ministry inEnghind, 
and next from the authorities in Virginia* By his unwearied 



A SURVEY IS 01vi)ERED. 9& 

exertions, however, and by these alone, and mostly at his 
own expense, the matter was at last adjusted. Nor did he 
remit his etlbrts, till every officer and private soldier had re- 
ceived his due proportion. Where deaths had occurred, the 
heirs were sought out, and their claims verified and allowed. 
Even Vanbraam, who was believed to have deceived him at 
the capitulation of the Great Meadows, and who went as 
hostage to Canada, thence to England and never returned to 
America, was not forgotten in the distribution. His share 
was reserved, and he was informed that it was at his disposal." 

To facilitate this purpose, the Governor ordered the 
survey. In 1773, such names as Taylor, Bullitt, Har- 
rod, McAfee — famous in the annals of Kentucky, — ■ 
were employed on this arduous duty. Thej were led 
by Captain Thomas Bullitt, well selected for such 
service, since he had been engaged in the celebrated 
expedition against Fort Du Quesne. lie led his party 
down the Ohio to the Falls, where a camp was built 
and fortified, so as to protect them from the Indians. 
Many surveys were made in Kentucky, and the pre- 
dictions and assertions of Boone verified. The 
brothers McAfee followed up the survey, and "a 
local habitation and a name " begun to appear in the 
wilderness — so rapidly were the plans of Boone un- 
derstood by the Yirginians. 

The buflalo was of great use to these explorers. 
Their paths, worn by long use, by the undisturbea 
travel of successive years, were adopted by the hunt- 
ers. They had a convenience and form which were 



100 LIFE OF DAITTEL BOONE. 

valued, and from their resemblance to something liko 
the work of man, the hunters called them the streets. 
The first survey on the Kentucky River was of six 
hundred acres, and was made by Taylor and the 
McAfee's. These adventurous men saw with interest 
the roads broken through the cane-brake by the mi- 
grating animals, and watched the contests which the 
salt licks witnessed among the brute creation, for that 
article, next to an absolute necessity — salt ; less 
patient and self-den^^ing than Boone, who had passed 
his solitary months even without it. 

In 1774, other surve3'0rs followed. In May, Cap- 
tain James Harrod, with a party of forty-one men, 
descended the Ohio River from the Monongahela, and 
arrived at the present location of liarrodsburgh, or, 
as it was first called, Harrodstown, or Old town ; and 
if the locality should be famous for nothing else, it 
would be for the fact that there corn was first raised 
- — the fii-st of that harvest which in our days glows in 
beauty, on all the vast expanse of fertile soil. The 
manner in which this town was laid out, proves that 
land was in abundance. They were literally " mon- 
archs of all they surveyed," and made their town lots 
to consist of an half acre, and their out lots of five 
acres, with a generosity of purpose, which would be 
extravagant in some parts of Kentucky in these times. 

Another party landed at .the present site of Louis- 
ville, traveling up the Kentucky River. There were 



DISSATISFACTION OF THE INDIANS. 101 

thus scattered over tlie wilderness country successive 
parties of Virginians, each actively occupied in the 
possession of the land, in arranging it in order, and in 
facilitating the plans of Washington for its division 
among the soldiery of the French War. To all the 
perils of privation, of whatever rendered the travel 
difficult, these men were inured. Since the bold da- 
ring of Boone had enabled him to brave all these 
alone, it would have been pusillanimous in a party of 
men to have quailed or faltered. The chief danger, 
of course, was with the Indians. 

The treaty of Fort Stanwix, in 1768, might have 
been sufficiently comprehended by the chiefs engaged 
in it, but the interior of the Colony of IS'ew York was 
too far off to be considered by the great mass of the 
nation, or by many included within the powerful 
confederacy of the Six Nations, as the place in which 
their title to a great and fertile territory was to be ex- 
tinguished. " The Indian nations," Filson says, " not 
concerned in the grant, became dissatisfied with the 
prospect of a settlement which might become so dan- 
gerous a thorn in their side, and committed some 
massacres upon the first explorers of the country." 
The " some massacres " so coolly talked about, inclu- 
ded the dreadful slaughter which checked and des- 
troyed the expedition which, under the auspices and 
directions of Daniel Boone, had, under such fair pros- 
pects, started from the Yadkin. 



L02 LIFE OF DAl^IEL BOONE. 

These men were in danger. Governor Dnninore 
perceived their peril, and counseled as to the best 
means for their rescue. The times were dark in all 
quarters of the country. Between the Crown and 
the Colonies there was no longer love or loyalty, and 
the fierce passions of war were stirring, in all their 
full sway, the savage. To him, the Fort Stanwix 
treaty was soon to be only the hated memory of an 
act of subserviency. 

The Governor of Yirginia sought the man for the 
exigency. When the death of James Boone and 
those who perished with him, broke up the expedition 
from the Yadkin and Powell's Yalley, as has been be- 
fore stated, the voice of the majority was controlling, 
and the party returned, making the end of their jour- 
ney the settlements on Clinch Kiver. Here Boone 
remained quietly and peaceably, during seven months. 
It was a strange end to that journey so nobly begun. 
A winter of calm domestic incident, among the set- 
tlements of a secure land, was not that on which he 
had built his projects. He expected a winter in the 
land which he had explored ; a camp guarded and 
protected by the power of Heaven, only by ceaseless 
vigilance. He had anticipated the possession of the 
wildest and widest range for his rifle that the keenest 
hunter could have desired. He had believed that his 
followers would have been all gathered around him, 
reveling in the luxuriance c! the rich land to which 



103 

he had brought them. All this the Indian had frus- 
trated, and the ]?:eeuest incident of their cruelty was 
the death of his son ; and yet he seems patiently to 
have gone to the settlement, seeing with strong sense 
that, for the time, this was the wisest. Boone had 
not ceased to believe himself " an instrument ordain- 
ed to settle the wilderness," and he rested till the oc- 
casion for the continuation of this great work should 
present itself. 

The boldness and daring, the calm enterprise of 
Boone, had made his name knovtn. It had reached 
the high and aristocratic Court of Virginia — for such 
was the Government of that Colony — that one man 
had traversed the mountain, and over every danger, 
and through every difficulty, had reached the glorious 
country of Kentucky ; had, with perseverance and a 
courage deserving the epithet of sublime, not from 
fanaticism, or the dread of or aversion for his species, 
made his distinct occupation of the land he had cho- 
sen, and in the midst of all had been calm, and after 
all had been patient and firm ; who had, with all the 
perils and persecutions of the pioneer and the prison- 
er, neither been revengeful nor bloody ; and whose 
character seemed fitted to be that of the leader and 
the father of a country. Governor Dunmore sent to 
Boone, and, as Boone tells the incident, " solicited ]inn 
to go to the Falls of the Ohio, to conduct into the set- 
ti^^^ment a number of surveyors that had been sent 



104 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 



thither by him some months before — this country 
having, about this time, drawn the attention of many 
adventurers." The summons from Court, the " soli- 
citation " by the Governor, must have produced its 
sensation in the quiet settlement on the Clinch. To 
the wife of Boone it must have seemed like the call 
to new trials. The husband and father was to be ex- 
posed to the perils which had deprived her of her son. 
To the settlers the occasion was one in which they 
felt pride, since it evidenced that, out of all the coun- 
try, their leader ana companion had been selected as 
the person most deserving of the confidence of the 
Head of the State. 




CHAPTEE VI. 

BOONE AND S 'ONER PENETRATE THE WILDERNESS EIGHT HUNDRED MILES, TO 

THE FALLS OF THE OHIO THEY FIND THE PARTY OF JAMES HARROD, AND 

WARN THEM OF INDIAN HOSTILITIES LORD DUNMORE ASSIGNS BOONE TO 

A MILITARY COMMAND BATTLE OF POINT PLEASANT BOONE RETURNS TO 

HIS FAMILY FERTILITY AND BEAUTY OF THE WEST RICHARD HENDER- 
SON HIS PROJECT OF A COLONY BOONE IS SENT ON A MISSION TO THE 

INDIANS BY LORD DUNMORE HIS SUCCESS BOONE EMPLOYED TO OPEN 

A ROAD FROM THE HOLSTON TO THE KENTUCKY RIVER HOSTILITY OF THK 

INDIANS LETTER TO COLONEL HENDERSON. 

Boone says " he iinmediatelj complied with the 
Governor's request." The promptitude and courage 
of the man was shown in the act. Undoubtedly it 
was a most welcome service. That winter must have 
been to him a period of plans and purposes, which 
found realization in this commission. " One Michael 
Stoner " was associated with him. Stoner was, like 
himself, a pioneer. He had hunted on Cumberland 
Hivef, and was familiar with wood-craft. He after- 
wards was conspicuous in the frontier conflicts, and 
was wounded at Boonesborough. Hardy, and bold, 
and adventurous as he doubtless was, it seems that 

he had the rare wisdom of taking good care of him- 
E* 



106 LIFE OF DAi^IEL BOONE. 

Belf, and from all the perils of the border war, secu- 
ring for himself a good share of the land he had as- 
sisted in subduing. "When, in after years, the court 
assembled to vindicate and arrange the accuracy of 
the land titles, S toner receiver the following certificate. 

" Michael Stoner, this day appeared, and claimed a right 
to a settlement, and preemption to a tract of land lying on 
Stoner's Fork, a branch of the South Fork of Licking, about 
twelve miles above Licking station, by making corn in the 
country in the year 1775, and improving the said land in the 
year 1*776 ; satisfactory proof being made to the court, they 
are of the opinion, that the said Stoner had a right to a set- 
tlement of four hundred acres of land, including the above 
mentioned improvements, and a preemption of one thousand 
acres adjoining the same, and that a certificate issue accord- 
•ingly." 

With this suitable companion Boone left the Clinch. 
It has been stated that the reason why Boone and his 
expedition remained during the winter, after the death 
of James Boone, at Clinch, was that they were kept 
in check by the Indians, but this does not seem prob- 
able, since, as soon as Lord Dunmore communicated 
his request to Boone, he started off — himself and 
Stoner traversing the scene of all the danger, au^d ar- 
riving safely at the Falls of the Ohio ; tracking their 
way through the wilderness, and by their skill and by 
their bravery, accomplishing with honor to themselves 
the important mission of deliverance ; completing a 
tour of eight hundred miles, through every species 



BOONE AND STONEk's JOUKNEY. 107 

of obstacle, or, as Boov.o, modestly calls it "many 
difficulties," in sixty-t^o days.* 

It is sad to think that of a journey so interesting, 
those who participated in it have left so few memori- 
als. Its record by Boone is of the most brief and*unsat- 
isfactory kind. Yet, it was not devoid of interest, 
and to Boone it must have been of the greatest mo- 
ment. His very journey resulted from his own la- 
bors. He saw how rapidly his movement had been 
followed, and how soon the adventurous and enter- 
prising had pushed through the gate himself had 
opened ; and wherever he went, those who had reared 
their cabin cheered the brave Pioneer whose lead 
they had followed. 

At their settlement, Boone found the party of James 
Harrod, and it was part of the duty to which Gov- 
ernor Dunmore had assigned Boone and Stoner, to 
warn the settlers that the Northern Indians had be- 
come hostile. It would have been well for this com- 

* One of the party whomgte rescued was John Floyd^ a jiame 
memorable in the annals of Virginia, as associated with its bravery, 
its honors, its eloquence. The region west of the mountains was 
considered as part of Fincastle county, Virginia. Of this CoL 
Preston was the chief surveyor. Floyd acted as his deputy, and 
as such was sent out by Lord Dunmore. His career in after life, 
though terminated by a murderous assault from the savage foe, was 
conspicuous in the history of the country, and it is interesting to 
know that on a memorable occasion in Boone's life, when he sought 
to rescue beloved members of his own family, Col. Floyd was of the 
party who aided him. Such is the deatiny of a heroic deed. It m 
transmigrated into another, 



^QQ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

pany had they given immediate heed to the informa 
tion thus communicated to them. Tlie Harrod party 
remained at their settlement till July 20. At that 
time, some of his men having discovered a spring 
near their town, to which they had assigned the pretty, 
plagiarised title of Fontainhlau— were remaining 
around their discovery. Tlie Indians made one of 
their characteristic and sudden attacks, killing one 
of their number, and dispersing the others. One of 
them returned safely to Harrod's camp. The other 
(and the incident is characteristic of the strange and 
unexpected results which are woven in the lives of 
these men) made for the trail that led to the Falls, 
(where Louisville now is,) and descending the Ohio, 
and even the great Mississippi, in a bark canoe, does 
not seem to have rested till he got around to Phila- 
delphia by sea ! If all this journey was the result 
of one fright by Indians, this man could not have 
been of the stuff of which the race of pioneers were 
formed. And yet there was^gome courage in this 
voyage in a bark canoe ; such boats being occasion- 
ally formed only with tomahawk and knife, with which 
a tree would be cut down and skinned — begun at 
sunrise and finished at sundown. 

The judgment of Lord Dunmore in respect to the 
probability of hostilities with the Indians, was veri- 
fied. The Shawanees, occupying the Great and Little 
Miami, and other of the Northwestern Indians, deter- 



THE INDIANS DETERMINE TO FIGHT. 109 

mined to fight. Tiiey saw tlie rich possession of their 
fat}^ers fading from them, for since the attention of 
the settlers had been given to the Kentucky, the rapid 
increase in number of the occupants taught them that 
a very difierent destiny was before them, than when 
a solitary individual, like Boone, sought their wilder- 
ness. They went to the fight with the conviction, in 
some minds, that they could crush at once the emi- 
gration, and, in all probability, with the belief in the 
minds of others, even among those savage tribes, that 
the day of the Ked Man would soon be over. Boone 
speaks of this war as "the campaign which Gov- 
ernor Dunmore carried on against the Shawanee 
Indians." 

Of all that Boone and Stoner did, in their sixty- 
two days' journey, the imperfect record furnishes 
few facts. Undoubtedly Boone from j^lace to place 
continued his research into the capacities of the new 
country, and stored away in his mind those points in 
its topography where the white man would soonest 
find facilities for his settlement. Of the rich lands — 
the abundant pasturage — the hunting ground — the 
water power — the forest, he informed himself thor- 
oughly. His selection by the Government had given 
him a confidence that his labor in the progress of do- 
minion over the wilderness, was recognized and ap- 
preciated by his fellow men. 

The perseverance and yigor which must have char- 



110 LITE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

acterized tliis journey — the great distance traveled^ 
in the very midst of that which, in the full sense of 
the term, was an enemy's country — makes this one 
of the most remarkable, as it is one of the most hon- 
orable, of the incidents of the life of this great man. 

That to the Virginian Court the performance of 
this duty by Boone, had been most satisfactory, is 
evidenced by the fact, that immediately upon the 
close of his trust. Governor Dunmore assigned him 
to a military command. It is curious to note the dif- 
ferent language which Boone uses, in his own narra- 
tive in relation to this. When he had been deputed 
to the first service, he says he was solicited by the 
Governor. When the military ofiice was bestowed, 
he says he was " ordered to take the command of 
three garrisons ; " so soon did he fall into the language, 
as undoubtedly he did into the habits and discipline^ 
of the soldier. These garrisons were upon the fron- 
tier; the Governor wisely judging that to the man 
who could evade and baffle the savages while alone, 
during mouths of residence and the travel of many 
hundreds of miles, might be safely committed the 
very out-posts of the war. 

This campaign ended with the battle of Poin. 
Pleasant, fought where the Great Kenhawa and the 
Ohio rivers join. It is the bloodiest battle in the re- 
cords of Virginia, with its Indian foe. The Virgin- 
ians, eleven hundred strong, were under the command 



BATTLE OF POINT PLEASANT. Ill 

of General Andrew Lewis. The Indians were led bv 
their celebrated chief, Cornstalk. In the Shawaneso 
tribe and Confederacy, he was first. He had the 
ability to lead, and the battle, under sucli control, 
could not but be decisive, and it was so. The In- 
dians fought desperately, and in the records of the 
dead and wounded, left bitter memories of their 
prowess. The loss was very severe to the Yirginians, 
seventy-five being killed, and one hundred and forty 
wounded. This ended the campaign, and it was felt 
throughout all the Indian JSTations. 

Boone, after the same careful and satisfactory dis-^ 
charge of his duty, returned to his family, at Clinch 
River, passing the winter in hunting, as an occupation 
suited to his vigorous energies, and, in all probability, 
framing in his mind new thought of future plans for 
the occupation of the new country. 

Before entering on the next epoch in the life of this 
remarkable man, it will be of interest to notice the 
opinion which others entertained of the magnitude, 
^-of the value of the country to which he stood in 
the relation almost of a discoverer — certainly in that 
of the Pioneer. Kentucky was to the enterprising a 
field of hope. There, all that had been fancied of a 
rich and luxuriant country, free to the adventurous, 
and in which the enterprising were to find, so soon as 
the blessing of a good government should be extend- 
ed over it, every good that the remunerating tillage 



112 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

of the earth could furnish — in Kentucky, all this was 
to be realized. The language used by Boone and 
Finley, was repeated in less inflated and in calmer 
terms, but with a meaning of equal strength, by those 
who necessarily came out to see this good land for 
themselves. It had a value which they felt would 
repay the severe toil its occupancy was costing, and 
would cost, and there were those who, like Boone, 
lived to see the greatness of the Free State realize— 
more than realize — all that, when they looked upon 
it in its original beauties, had been uttered and delin- 
eated. Imlay gives his sketch of its appearance, 
which while rhapsodical and poetical, is yet indicative 
of the impression upon the early traveler. 

" Everything here assumes a dignity and splendor, I have 
never seen in any other part of the world. You ascend a 
considerable distance from the shore of the Ohio, and when 
you would suppose you had arrived at the summit of a 
mountain, you find yourself upon an extensive level. Here 
an eternal verdure reigns, and the brilliant sun of latitude 
390 piercing through the azure heavens, produces in this 
prolific soil an early maturity, which is truly astonishing: 
Flowers, full and perfect, as if they had been cultivated by 
the hand of a florist, with all their captivating odors, and 
with all the variegated charms which color and nature can 
produce, here, in the lap of elegance and beauty, decorate the 
smiling groves. Soft zephyrs gently breathe on sweets, and 
the inhaled air gives a voluptuous glow of health and vigor, 
that seems to ravish the intoxicated senses. The sweet son^- 
sters of the forest appear to feel the influence of the genial 



VIRGINIA ENCOURAGES THE SETTLERS. 113 

clime, and in more soft, and modulated tones warble their 
tender notes, in unison with love and nature. Everything 
here gives delight, and in that wild effulgency which beams 
around us, we feel a glow of gratitude, for the elevation which 
our all bountiful Creator has bestowed upon us. You must 
forgive what I know you will call rhapsody, but wHat I really 
experienced after traveling across the Alleghany Mountain 
in March, when it was covered with snow, and after finding 
the country about Pittsburgh bare, and not recovered from 
the ravages of winter. There was scarcely a blade of grass 
to be seen ; everything looked dreary, and bore those marks 
of melancholy which the rude frost produces. I embarked 
immediately for Kentucky, and in less than nine days landed 
at Limestone, where I found nature robed in all her charms." 

Yirginia now determined to encourage the settle- 
ment of a land which promised to be, in its wide ex 
tent and unexampled fertility, so useful and so pow- 
erful. The authorities offered four hundred acres of 
land to every person who engaged to build a cabin, 
clear a piece of land, and produce a crop of Indian 
corn. This was called a settlement-right. Many of 
these settlements were made, when a new and extra- 
ordinary feature in the history of Kentucky presented 
itself, and one with which Boone was intimately 
connected. 

Richard Henderson, of IsTorth Carolina, had grown 
up to maturity before he could read and write, and 
only acquired these foundation branches of education 
by perseverance at a period when, as the early love 



tl4 LITE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

of learning has not been fostered, it is often most diffi 
cult to form. He began life as a constable, but pos 
sessing genius, and that power of voice and expres- 
sion in conversation and public speaking which is the 
real eloquence, he adopted the profession of the law, 
always most influential in a new settlement. A Brit- 
ish traveler, (Dr. Smyth,) an agent of Lord Dunmore, 
describes him as of superior genius, with amazing 
talent, and of a manner so agreeable as to leave him 
w^ithout a single enemy ; and that, while a very young 
man, he was appointed Associate Chief Judge of 
North Carolina. Evidently, to this gentleman even 
his judicial honors did not afford sufficient dignity, 
and he struck out a bold path — one of the boldest 
ever attempted by any American. He spent his mo- 
ney somewhat too freely, and Dr. Smith observes that 
his extensive genius struck out a bolder road to for- 
tune and fame than any one before him had ever at- 
tempted. He founded a colony. He was not content 
with any possession but a principality. Dr. Smyth 
thus rapidly sketches this new grasp at empire : 

" Under pretence of viewing some.back lands, he privately 
went out to the Cherokee nation of Indians, and for an insig- 
nificant consideration, (only ten wagons loaded with cheap 
goods, some fire arms and spirituous liquDrs,) made a pur- 
chase, from the chiefs of the nation, of a vast tract of terri- 
tory, equal in extent to a -kingdom, and in the excellence of 
climate and soil, extent of its rivers, and beautiful elegance 
of situations, inferior to none in the universe. A domain of 



Henderson's purchase. 115 

no less than one hundred miles square, situated on the back 
or Ulterior part of Virginia, and of fforth and SoutJi Caro- 
lina; comprehending the rivers Kentucky, Cherokee and 
Ohio, besides a variety of inferior rivulets, delightful and 
charming as imagination can conceive. This transaction he 
kept a profound secret, until such time as he obtained the 
final ratification of the whole nation in form. Then he im- 
mediately invited settlers from all the Provinces, offering 
them lands on the most advantageous terms, and proposing 
to them, likewise, to form a legislature and government of 
their own ; such as might be most convenient to their par- 
ticular circumstances of settlement. And he instantly va- 
cated his seat on the bench. Mr. Henderson by this means 
established a new colony, numerous and respectable, of 
which he himself was virtually proprietor as well as gover- 
nor, and indeed legislator also ; having framed a code of 
laws particularly adapted to their singular situation and local 
circumstances. 

" In vain did the different Governors fulminate their pro 
clamations of outlawry against him and his people ; in vain 
did they offer rewards for apprehending him, and forbid ev- 
ery person from joining or repairing to his settlement ; un- 
der the sanction and authority of a general law, that ren- 
ders the formal assent of the Governors and Assemblies of 
the different Provinces absolutely necessary to vindicate the 
purchase of any lands from the Indian nations. For this in- 
stance being the act of the Indians themselves, they defended 
him and his colony, being in fact as a bulwark and barrier 
between Virginia, as well as North and South Carolina, and 
him ; his territory lying to the \yestward of their nation." 

An authority more reliable than that of Doctor 
Smyth — the intelligent and well judging Governor 



116 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

Morehead — recites the founding of Transylvania in 
an interesting detail. . 

" In the autumn of the year 1774, there originated in 
North Carolina, one of the most extraordinary schemes of 
ambition and speculation, which was exhibited in an age 
pregnant with such events. Eight private gentlemen — 
Richard Henderson, William Johnston, Nathaniel Hart, John 
Tuttrel, David Hart, John Williams, James Hogg, and 
Leonard Henley Bullock, contrived the project of purchas- 
ing a large tract of country, in the west, from the Cherokee 
Indians, and provisionary arrangements were made, with a 
view to the accomplishment of their object, for a treaty to 
be held with them in the ensuing year. This was the cele- 
brated Transylvania company, which formed so singular a 
connexion with our early annals. In March, 1775, Col. Hen- 
derson, on behalf of his associates, met the chiefs of the Che- 
rokees, who were attended by twelve hundred warriors, at 
a fort on the Wataga, the south-eastern branch of the Hol- 
ston River. A council was held, the terms were discussed, 
the purchase was consummated — including the whole tract 
of country between the Cumberland and Kentucky rivers." 

This treaty, so curiously formed by these adventur- 
ous gentlemen with the Indians, and which transferred 
to them, for a brief time at least, a sovereignity so ex- 
tensive, was held at Wataga, an Indian Town, sit- 
uated on the south branch of the Holston River. As 
Boone had been selected by Lord Dunmore to guide 
through the wilderness his best surveyors, so was his 
sagacity and skill recognized in this new trust. He 
was, in fact, the man who was relied upon to securo 



TREATY WITH THE INDIANS. 117 

the possession of this vast country. lie had been 
(the Indians must have known it well,) the man to 
whom the whites were indebted for their knowlede^e 
of the rich and beautiful land which was once all 
their own, in imdisturbed possession, and which, but 
for the courage and perseverance of Boone, might 
have been in their possession for years ; for it has 
been said by good authority, that the conduct of Boone 
anticipated for the whites the possession of that noble 
land, many years ahead of the period when, by the 
succession of events, it would have fallen to them. 
The Indians saw in Boone, the man who had wrought 
all this, and yet he had never given them personal 
cause for hatred or revenge. This is the marked dif- 
ference between Boone and the other Pioneers. He 
went out to possess; too many of them w^ent forth to 
slay and destroy. Boone was chosen to represent 
the intending proprietors in their immediate nego- 
tiations. The treaty was most numerously attended. 
There twelve hundred warriors saw the great Hunter, 
and the greater Pioneer. The chiefs of the Chero- 
kees saw for themselves, who it was that had sought 
out their land. And yet, so wisely was this coun- 
cil directed, that it resulted, as has been stated, in the 
acquisition. 

Doctor Smyth thinks tb ^ consideration paid, a tri- 
fling one, but it is elsewhere, with greater probability, 
stated to have been ten thousand pounds sterling, in 



118 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

goods. The unconscionable profit realised in Indian 
trades, may some^vliat reduce this high sounding cost. 

Judge Hall thinks this purchase was the result of 
the careful examination and accurate secret informa- 
tion obtained by Boon-e on his first journey, when, as 
the learned Judge thinks, he was acting as the confi- 
dential agent of those who, afterward, became the 
proprietors of the Transylvania Colony. If this be 
so, never was an agent more faithful ; and the fact 
that a company of men, intelligent and prominent 
such as these were, should hinge the great purpose 
of their life on his statement, is a vivid illustration of 
the real greatness of his character. He sagaciously 
kei3t his counsel and theirs. He thoroughly fulfilled 
all that had been intrusted to him. John Quincj^ 
Adams said of La Fayette, that he had the great tal- 
ent of always being adequate to the duty to which 
he was designated. 

"When these proprietors had accomplished their ne- 
gotiation with the Indians, their next step was to pro- 
vide for the settlement and survey of their possessions, 
and Boone was immediately selected. He had dis- 
covered the country, negotiated for it, and was now 
to make the first mark of civilization upon it, in the 
exploration and opening of a road from the settlement 
on the Holston, to the Kentucky Kiver. This was no 
light labor. In the cane-brakes and the hills, there 
would have been work enough in peaceable times to 



OPENING OF THE KOAD. 119 

ha^e found a path tlirongli the wilderness ; how much 
more, when a savage and treacherous race was all 
around, who would very readily find loop holes enough 
in a treaty to put a musket ball through, especiall}- 
as every mile of the road was a presage of their own 
downfall. 

He had assigned to him to aid in this service, a 
company of men, well armed. Boone says they were 
all enterprising men, as they had need to be, if they 
were to follow Boone through the wilderness. He 
was " to mark out a road in the best passage from the 
settlement, through the wilderness, to Kentucky, with 
such assistance as he thought necessary." It was a 
perilous task, but Boone was at home in the woods, 
and knew all the mysteries of campaigning there. 
In the clearing he was to make, would soon follow the 
pack-horses and wagons, in which Colonel Henderson 
w^as to essay the furtherance of his settlement. Again 
, Boone left his family for a scene of peril and ex- 
posure. It will be seen shortly, that these constant 
absences were becoming intolerable, and were rem- 
edied. 

On went the road-makers : the road is the compan- 
on of civilization. The treaty was held in March, 
and the pioneers appear to have been immediately 
set at work, as Colonel Henderson was a man of en- 
®^gj> ^^^ it is very probable, thought that the sooner 
he reduced into actual possession his new territory, 



120 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

the better. They accomplislied their work rapidly, 
and without serious obstacle, until' they had arrived 
at a spot, within fifteen miles of the present Boones- 
borough. Here the Indians broke out in open hostil- 
ity. The road had assumed a visible appearance, and 
the savages believed it best to arrest its further pro- 
gress. They made an assault, which proved fatal to 
two of Boone's party ; thus making it certain that 
every movement towards the possession of that land, 
would be marked with blood. The thing was a sur- 
prise. Cool and wary as the Hunter was, the craft 
of the Indian was often his superior. Boone acknow- 
ledges that in this instance he was " surprised and 
taken at a disadvantage ; " but he declares, like a sol- 
dier, that he and his party stood their ground. The 
Indian was not satisfied with this. He followed up 
his attacks raj)idly, and the company, in three days 
afterwards, lost two men more. Of this Boone gives, 
in a letter to Colonel Henderson, an interesting acj 
count : 

April 1st, 1775. 
Dear Colonel: 

* " After my compliments to you, I shall acquaint you with 
our misfortunes. On March the 25th, a party of hidians 
fired on my company about half an hour before day, and 
killed Mr. Twitty and his negro, and wounded Mr. Walker 
very deeply, but I hope he will recover. 

" On March the 28th, as we were hunting for provisions, 
we found Samuel Tale's sou, who gave us an account that 



LETIEE TO UE:NDEKS0N. 



121 



the Indians fired on their camp on the 27th day. My brother 
and I went down and found two men killed and scalped, 
Thomas McDowell and Jeremiah McPetcrs. I have sent a 
man down to all the lower companies in order to gather them 
all to the mouth of the Otter Creek. My advice to you, 
sir, is to come or send as soon as possible. Your company 
is desired greatly, for the people are very uneasy, but are 
willing to stay and venture their lives with you ; and now 
is the time to flusterate their (the Indians') intentions, and 
keep the country, whilst we are in it. If we give way to 
them now, it will ever be the case. This day we start from 
the battle ground, tor the mouth of the Otter Creek, where 
we shall immediately erect a fort, which will be done before 
you can come or send ; then we can send ten men to meet 
you, if you send for them. 

I am, sir, your most obedient 

Daniel Boone. 
" N. B. We stood on the ground and guarded our bag 
gage till day, and lost nothing. We have about fifteen miles 
to Cantrlck's at Otter Creek. 



F 




CHAPTEK YII. 

b0oi7e and his company bihld a fort he removes his family w 

it other families remove to the fort arrival of henderson — 

boonesborough transylvania land company other settlements 

— the first legislature boone a delegate john floyd hen- 
derson's address boone as a legislator divine service col. 

Callaway's family arrives — the Indians capture three girls — 

THE PURSUIT and THE RESCUE THE INDIANS ATTACK OTHER POSTS — 

INDIAN MODE OF WARFARE THE WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN ALARM OF 

THE SETTLERS RETURN OF MANY OF THEM. 

Boone wrote tlie foregoing letter on the day that 
the building of the fort was commenced. It was a 
rude structure but a strong one, and furnished a most 
important rallying point for the settlement. It was 
situated adjacent to the river, with one of the angles 
resting on the bank near the water, and extending 
from it in the form of a parallelogram. The lengtli 
was abo at two hundred and sixty feet, and the breadth 
one hundred and fifty. Colonel Henderson perpetu- 
ated the remembrance of this famous garrison, by a 
sketch of the fort, of considerable accuracy of detail. 
Butler says that a fort, in those rude military times, 
consisted of pieces of timber, sharpened at the ends 
and firmly lodged in the ground. Rows of these 
pickets covered the desired space, which embraced 



A FRONTIEK i^OBT, 123 

the cabins of the inhabitants. Slight as all this was, 
to the Indian it was formidable, who much rather 
preferred the encounter in the open plain, or the 
woods, or the canebrake. To the pioneers, this pro- 
tection was invaluable. The fort built by Boone 
seems to have been very well planned and construct- 
ed, although the clearing was just sufficient to admit 
the fortification, and brought it in what would seem 
to us a most uncomfortable contiguity of position to the 
woods; affording to the foe a shelter and an ambush 
directly at the fort. If all the frontier forts had been 
as well built as was this one, it would have saved 
great suffering. The corners had houses of hewn 
logs projecting from them ; the spaces were filled up 
with cabins of rough logs, close together. The gates 
were strong and stout. The fort was not finished till 
the fourteenth day of June. Boone says, with strong 
simplicity of expression, they were " busily employed 
about it." In its progress, they lost one man by the 
attack of the Indians. The savage saw this strong 
house in their midst w^ith dismay, for they could see 
in it a strength that their arts could not overthrow. 
It was the beginnmg of the end. 

"When the Pioneer had finished the fort, he saw in 
it the sufficient guard for a garrison, and he left a 
company there, who should keep possession of the 
place and cultivate the land adjacent. Two great 
objects were gained. The proprietors of the territory 



12^ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

had secured a central point to which their followers 
could resort, and, wliile there was force enough there, 
they could show the Indians, by their pursuit of agri- 
culture, that their object was a peaceable one. Boone 
returned to his family, and determined, at all hazards, 
to remove them to the settlement. It will be noticed 
that under two circumstances only did this truly brave 
man seek to bring his kindred to the beautiful land 
he had discovered, aware, as he so thoroughly was, of 
all its dangers. The first was, when he knew he was 
surrounded by a large and powerful company ; and 
the second w^as, when a fortification was built which 
could adequately protect them. He knew the civili- 
zing efifect of the society of a wife and a mother, and 
it was in noble consistency with the devotion of ser- 
vice he had rendered in all stations to those in whose 
employ he was, that he desired, even at the risk of 
exposure of the kindred dearest to him, to give a per- 
manency and a healthful vigor to the new settlement. 
In the path of one daring woman others would fol- 
low, and the wife of Boone was the one most worthy 
of leading in this valuable enterprise. 

His wife and daughters agreed to accompany him. 
Boone glides in his narrative rapidly over the circum- 
stances of the journey, which he says was " safe, with- 
out any other difficulties than such as are common to 
the passage," to announce with evident complacency 
and gratulation, that they were the first white women 



MRS. boonp:'s arrival. 125 

thai tjver stood on the banks of the Kentucky River. 
Pioneera were they — first of a band of heroic, self- 
devoting women, who were subjected to such sights 
and sounds of horror as only brave hearts could have 
borne, but who, in the midst of all, fulfilled the home- 
cheering mission of their sex ; who were surrounded 
by peril, but never forsook father, and brother, and 
husband. 

A distinguished citizen of Kentucky (Orlando 
Brown, Esq.) relates, in connection with this subject, 
the following incident : 

"An old lady who had been in the forts was describing to 
Dr. Brown the scenes she had witnessed in those times of 
peril and adventure ; and, among other things, remarked that 
during the first two years of her residence in Kentucky, the 
most comely sight she beheld, was seeing a young man dy- 
ing in his bed a natural death. She had been familiar with 
blood, and carnage, and death, but in all those cases the suf- 
ferers were the victims of the Indian tomahawk and scalping 
knife ; and that on an occasion when a young man was taken 
sick and died, after the usual manner of nature, she and the 
rest of the women sat up all night, gazing upon him as an 
object of beauty." 

What the ordinary perils of the journey were, may 
be imagined. To traverse for hundreds of miles a 
wilderness where an imperfect road was a curiosity — 
when, at every thicket, the probabilities were almost 
even that a foe would be found, and when the wild 
beast tracked every foot-step — these were the inci- 



126 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

dents of tlie journey of tliose females ; and to o.ie l 
them, the remembrance was always present, that un- 
der just such circumstances she had lost her eldest 
son, when the best hopes of early youth were with 
him. The shelter of the fort soon received them, and 
it was difficult to judge as to which was most wel- 
comed, the brave and reliable Pioneer, or those who 
came with him, as evidences that there was yet a con- 
nection between the fort and the gentle and the pleas- 
ant things of life. 

Mrs. Boone was soon rewai\ded for her courage and. 
enterprise. When Boone had projected and in part 
executed his first great scheme of civilization — the 
one which was so fatally arrested near Cumberland 
Gap — there were with him, as part of the adventur- 
ous company of pioneers, the families of McGary, 
Hogan and Dexter, and they had given, in terrible 
sacrifice to the new empire, the life of a son — their 
loss having been such as Boone experienced — for the 
Indian seldom put his knife deeper into the home 
of the white man, than on that dreadful occasion. 
Events developed themselves in the ]3rogress of this 
history, to prove how faithfully Boone had fulfilled 
the hope of all who confided in him. Remembering 
his manly and brave conduct — his patience — the 
gentle manner in which he had yielded to the remon- 
strances of bereaved mothers, and returned, even at 
the risk of every great hope in him — when they 



OTHER FAMILIES EMIGRATE. 127 

heard that Boone was again to test the fortunes of the 
wilderness, they determined to go with him, and make 
one more venture upon the winning of the land which 
Boone had so truthfully and. glowingly described. 

The party that started were quite respectable in 
force. The possession of twenty-seven guns was an 
argument which the Indian respected. After travel- 
ing together for some time, for some unexplained rea- 
son, they separated. Tlie parties of McGary, Denton, 
and Hogan, were left in the rear, while Boone pushed 
on. Yarious fortunes befell these, but after losing 
their way — after leaving their cattle with those young 
men — all terminated safely by their arrival at the 
fort. 

The fort built by Boone, was, on its completion the 
signal for other settlements. As they knew that they 
could fall back on this, in case of extremity, men be- 
gan at this or that favorite location, to make a per- 
manent abiding place. Such was the influence of 
the strong position taken by him. He seems to have 
realized its value, and in recording a skirmish, which 
darkened the day before that which should have been 
their " merry Christmas " by the loss of one man by 
the Indians, he says quaintly, " the Indians seemed 
determined to persecute us for erecting this fortifi- 
cation." 

As the strength of the fort became known, other 
emigrants came in, among them Eichard Callaway ; 



128 LIFE OF D^VNIEL BOONE. 

but tlie chief arrival was tliat of the head of the col- 
ony, Hendei-son. He, with forty armed men, and 
others unarmed, for unlike Young Lochinvar he did 
not ride 

"All iinavmecl and alone," 

with all the paraphernalia of pack-horses, moved on 
their way to the fort, designating it as the future seat 
of government for the territory. The party moved 
on with sure step, traversing the road which their 
faithful pioneer liad prepared for them, and without 
which the journey, so important in its results, could 
not have been taken. This journey to take possession 
of such vast estates, with a company of soldier-like 
men, and upon the path arranged for them by the 
great discover of the country, had sometliing in it of 
the magnificent, and was one of the extraordinary 
scenes accompanying the career of Boone, most of 
whose manhood seems to have been passed amidst 
stirring incidents. 

Tliere was no want <^ occupation or of the means 
of subsistence for those who were gathered at the fort. 
The great object of the settlement was to conquer the 
forest and constitute the farm ; this furnished work 
enough. Such hunters as were assembled there, found 
in the fresh woods around them sufficienc}^ of gama 
If the hunter ventured too far in his eager pursuit, he 
was reminded by Boone of his danger, and the saga- 
cious counsels of their leader taught the camp a dis- 



EXCITING TIMES. 120 

cipline which was of inestimable vahie. These were 
days when the approaching conflict with Great Brit- 
ain was commencing its agitation ; when the savages 
became aware that a mighty power would soon be at 
tlieir side, glad to enlist their prowess against the set- 
tler ; when thus from the trained soldier, and the men 
of the woods — from the forest and the field — danger 
menaced. An intelligent historian says, " Boone fig- 
ured in these exciting times, the centre figure, tower- 
ing like a Colossus amid that hardj^ band of pioneers 
who opposed their breasts to the shock of the struggle 
which gave a terrible significance and a crimson hue 
to the history of the old " Dark and Bloody Ground." 
As the events of the opening scene of the Eevolu- 
tion reached the settlers, there could be no uncertain- 
ty or doubt as to the side which would be espoused 
by them. When the news of the fight of Lexington 
reached a party of emigrants, who had made a rest- 
ing place near the head waters of the Elkhorn, where 
the land lay smiling to the sun, they immediately 
transferred the name of the battle-field to their own 
new home. The Bay of Boston was '' a far away,'' 
but these gallant men of the forest felt their pulse 
beat quick as they listened to the story of the Sons 
of Liberty. They must have felt that the incidents 
of a fight for freedom would not always be confined 
to the shores of the Atlantic ; and they could not but 
have realized that their own perils were greatly in- 
F* 9 



130 LIFE OF DAIflEL BOONfl. 

creased by the probable union of the bayonet of the 
British soldier, with the tomahawk of the savage. 

Colonel Henderson having arrived at the fort, 
which seems now to have had conferred upon it the 
title of Boonesborough, he determined to organize his 
government. The proprietors of the Transylvania 
Company knew that it was necessary for them to be 
in earnest, for as intelligent men, they must have 
known the questionable character of their proceed- 
ings. He opened a Land Office and selected its offi- 
cers. In a short period over an half million of acres 
had been entered in this extensive office. In a colo- 
ny so wide spread, thousands of acres was not of great 
consideration. The titles of the leases were in the 
name of " The proprietors of the Colony of Transyl- 
vania, in America." The reservation of a perpetual 
rent, if this singular domain had been preserved, would 
have soon led to the same disastrous scenes which 
have signalized the leasehold estates of the country. 
While the settlements are sparse, to secure the pow- 
erful aid of the proprietors, the agreement to pay the 
rent is readily made, but when the tenant feels him- 
Belf fully competent in all respects to manage his 
own property, the quit-rent becomes an intolerable 
burthen. 

Those who entered land in the office at Boonesbor- 
ough believed the title secure. They desired a paper 
title — it had the appearance of security; and while 



BOONE A LEGISLATOR. 131 

their property was situate where the Indian would 
have laughed at the " deed " or " article," the old 
habits of the Eastern States were yet upon them, 
and this office found abundant occupation. 

There were now four settlements from which, for 
the organization above mentioned, delegates were 
summoned — Boonesborough, Harrodsburgh, (settled 
in the summer of 17T4, by the erection of a log cabin 
by James Harrod,) the Boiling Spring settlement, and 
that of St. Asaph's — these having sprung up in the 
wilderness wherever courageous men believed them- 
selves strong enough to make a stand to resist the en- 
emy. These gatherings of the pioneers responded to 
the call made upon them to form a State, and this ex- 
traordinary Legislature met on the twenty- third day 
of May, 1775 ; the log-built fort which Boone erected 
being at once the fortress, the city, the capitol. !N^e- 
ver had legislature so few constituents to so much 
territory. 

Colonel Henderson managed his territory in a very 
dignified manner. He did not take his place among 
the delegates, but appeared in the character of presi- 
dent or sovereign of the country. Here our Hunter 
and Pioneer appears in a civil dignity, as he heads 
the list of delegates from Boonesborough. His faithful 
brother, Squire, now reappears in the narrative, by 
his side, as an dissociate with him, as does his friend, 
Callaway. Indeed, if this procedure had been in our 



132 LIFE OF DAKIEL BOOKE. 

day, it would have looked exceedingly like a " packed 
delegation." The gentlemanly John Floyd was of 
the representation from St. Asaph's, and must have 
been of inestimable service to their councils, since 
Governor Morehead describes him as alternately a 
surveyor, a legislator, and a soldier ; an ornament 
and a benefactor of the settlements ; of excellent in- 
formation ; an intellectual man, and of undaunted 
courage ; his person singularly attractive ; his com- 
plexion unusually dark ; his eyes and hair deej) black ; 
and his tall, spare figure dignified by the accomplish- 
ments of a Virginian gentleman. 

The Assembly opened with all decorum, with an 
act which is of lustre to the principle and character of 
those men of wild and suflTering days. Among their 
number was a clergyman, the Rev. John Lythe, by 
whom divine service was performed ; thus heralding, 
with the recognition of Heaven, the first Legislative 
Council of Kentucky. They had not then shaken off 
the idea of their Colonial dependence, as President 
Henderson addresses them as convened in the fif- 
teenth year of the reign of His Majesty, King of 
Great Britain. 

The address of Mr. Henderson is a remarkable one. 
He tells them that, although only representing one 
hundred and fifty persons, they are placing the first 
corner stone of an edifice, the height and magnifi- 
cence of whose supers"^ructure can only become great 



COL. Henderson's speech. 133 

and glorious in proportion to the excellence of its 
foundation. He trusts their sentiments will be wor- 
thy the grandeur of the subject. 

Kor ought it to be omitted, as a significant fea- 
ture in his speech, that he (and this was in 1775) dis- 
tinctly considers the only legitimate source of all po- 
litical power ■ to be the people. Tame platitudes as 
are all such declarations now, in that day these opin- 
ions were enlightened beyond the ordinary mind, and 
were advanced at cost and hazard. He alludes to 
their remote frontier, surrounded on all sides by dif- 
ficulties, and subject to one common danger, and if 
Jeremy Bentham had been in existence of manhood, 
lie would have sent his compliments to the President 
of Transylvania, for such a sentence as this : ^' If anj 
doubt remain among you, with respect to the force 
and efiiciency of whatever laws you now or hereafter 
make, be pleased to consider that all power is origi- 
nally in the people : make it their interest^ therefore^ 
ly impartial and henejlcent laws^ and you may he sure 
of their inclination to see them enforced.'''^ 

It seems that Lord Dunmore was greatly scandal- 
ized by the bold movement of the Transylvania pro- 
prietors, whom, in a proclamation, he had desig- 
nated as " one Richard Henderson and other disor- 
derly persons, his associates." Within the shelter of 
the walls of the fort, the president does not spare the 
noble governor, but fires into him an attack, which, 



134 LIFE OF D^miEL BOONE. 

if Lord Dunmore had not had, about those days, just 
as much else of occupation as the expiring and tremb- 
lirg days of royal rule could entertain, might have 
been the occasion of a compulsory visit by Hender- 
son to the seat of authority in Yirginia. He suggests 
that the " moral character of his settlers would de- 
rive little advantage" by being placed in competition 
with that of the representative of the crown. 

Evidently, the proprietors relied on their seclusion 
and distance, else their convention of a Legislature 
against the will of the governor, would have run 
uncomfortably near the serious offence of high treason. 

He acted upon the conviction that good English 
was utterly unintelligible to the Indians, else he 
would not have proclaimed the fact — and a sure fact 
it was — that the ignorance of the Lidians of the 
weakness and want of order of the Colony, had pre- 
vented their attack. As a cunning topic, and one at 
the mention of which, he knew there ^vould be a 
" profound sensation," among the bold and roving 
audience before him, he speaks of " the wanton de- 
struction of our game, the only support of life among 
many of us, and for want of which the country would 
be abandoned ere to-morrow, and scarcely a proba- 
bility remain of its ever becoming the habitation of 
any Christian people." 

The answer of the delegates, which was made in all 
form, has, as its most important feature, the claim for 



PROCEEDINGS OF THE LEGISLATURE. 135 

tliat Assembly, as an absolute right, to frame rules for 
tlie government of their little society, without giving 
umbrage to Great Britain or any of the Colonies. 

The records of this extraordinary House, indicate 
that they who projected the Transylvania Colony, 
were men of mind. From the beginning, while act- 
ing with great boldness, they had also originated and 
matured their plans with eminent sagacity. It is very 
curious to note that this handful of men, almost with- 
out constituents, and all gathered just out of hearing 
of the war-whoop, and all within one log edifice, fol- 
lowed with due care all parliamentary forms. One 
of their earliest orders was to direct tlieir sergeant-at- 
arms to bring up before them an outsider, a Mr. John 
Guess, for an insult offered Col. Callaway. It indi- 
cates the subordination and discipline, that in this 
way this result was noticed. It would have been suf- 
ficient punishment to have left the offender one night 
outside the garrison walls. 

Our great Hunter was not a mere spectator of the 
proceedings of this Legislature. It would have been 
most excusable had he been, and that from utter 
amazement, for it was but a few months — scarcely 
yeare — since he had been the only white man in all 
that country, far and wide, with not the first atom of 
human government — its lore, its law, its rules — about 
him ; and here he was in the midst of a formal as- 
semblage. But he made his presence known, and, 



136 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

true to tlie practical, earnest habit of his life, doing 
that which he could do best, on the very first day the 
entry is this : 

" On motion of Mr. Daniel Boone, leave was given to 
bring in a bill for preserving game, and a committee was 
appointed for that purpose, of which Mr. Daniel Boone was 
chairman." 

His next bill was one for improving the breed of 
horses, and both these bills passed, were signed by 
the proprietors, and became laws. 

Kor is it to be passed over, before leaving this sub- 
ject, that this infant colony honored itself by intro- 
ducing a bill to prevent profane swearing and Sab- 
bath breaking ; the desecration of the Creator's name, 
shocking the moral sense, even among these solitudes. 

The session was three days. Col. Henderson kept 
a diary of the events that signalized it ; and it is of 
interest to read the description he gives of the place 
where this Legislature held its deliberation. Never 
in the history of mankind, was there a more fitting 
arena for a council of forest men — bold hunters — 
pioneers — identified with the occupancy and con- 
quest of the woods. 

They ended, as they had begun, by the celebration 
of divine service. The remaining history of the set- 
tlement will follow in due course. The moral effect 
of such a convocation could not but have been most 
important. These men were known to be the found- 



GIRLS CAPTURED BY INDIANS. 137 

ers of the settlements, of all others the boldest and the 
bravest. That it should have been among the first 
acts of their organization, to establish certain just 
principles of action — equitable and honest regulations 
— was a strange event in history ;• and brief as was 
the existence of the Colony or State of Transylvania, 
it left its mark, strong and deep, in the moulding of 
the future. 

As the year 17Y6 opened — a year, which, to all 
parts of America, seaboard and frontier, was to be 
important and memorable — other emigrants came in, 
and among the most welcome was the family of Col. 
Callaway. His wife and two daughters came to the 
fort, while Col. Benjamin Logan brought his wife and- 
family to Logan's Fort. 

That it was not an imaginary peril which surround- 
ed the settlers, was soon painfully proved, and by an 
incident which, unquestionably, was longer remem- 
bered by every female in the new country, than any 
other. It was ther capture, by the Lidians, of the two 
daughters of Col. Callaway — Misses Betsey and Fran- 
ces — and Jemima, one of the daughters of Boone. 
His own narrative of this interesting event, is exceed- 
ingly meager ; it may be because he was one of the 
principal actors in it. Fortunately, John Floyd, (one 
of the surveying party that Lord Dunmore had sent 
Boone to rescue,) has given an animated description. 
This, and the additions to it, gathered by the intelli- 



138 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

gent liistorian, Peck, from one of the captured parties, 
will always remain a vivid chapter in the true stories 
of the border. 

" On the fourteenth of July, 1776, Betsey Callaway, her 
sister Frances, and Jemima Boone, a daughter of Captain 
Boone, the two last about fourteen years of age, carelessly 
crossed the river opposite to Boonesborough, in a canoe, at 
a late hour in the afternoon. The trees and shrubs on the 
opposite bank were thick, and came do^vn to the water's edge. 
The girls, unconscious of danger, were playing and splashing 
the water with the paddles, until the canoe, floating with the 
current, di'ifted near the shore. Five stout Indians lay there 
concealed, one of whom, noiseless and stealthy as the serpent, 
crawled down the bank until he reached the rope that hung 
from the bow, turned its course up the stream, and in a di- 
rection to be hidden from the view of the fort. The loud 
shrieks of the captured girls were heard, but too late for 
their rescue. The canoe, their only means of crossing, was 
on the opposite shore, and none dared to risk the chance of 
swimming the river, under the impression that a large body 
of savages was concealed in the woods . Boone and Calla- 
way were both absent, and night set in before their return, 
and arrangements could be made for pursuit. Next morn 
ing, by daylight, we were on the track, but ^ound they had 
totally prevented our following them, by warkmg some dis- 
tance apart through the thickest canes they could find. We 
observed their course, and on which side we had left their 
sign, and traveled upwards of thirty miles. We then ima- 
gined that they would be less cautious in traveling, and made 
a turn in order to cross their trace, and had gone but a few 
miles before we found their trades in a buffalo path ; pur- 
sued and overtook thdm, on going about ten mileg^ 




CAPTUKE OF THE MISSES BOONE AND CALLAWAV. 



THE CAPXrVES RESCUED. 189 

lust as they were kindling a fire to cook. Our study- 
had been more to get the prisoners, without giving the In 
dians time to murder them after they discovered us, than to 
kill them. We discovered each other nearly at the same 
time. Four of us fired, and all rushed on them, which pre- 
vented them from carrying away anything except one shot- 
gun, without ammunition. Mr. Boone and myself had a 
pretty fair shoot, just as they began to move off. I am well 
convinced I shot one through, and the one he shot dropped 
his gun ; mine had none. The place was very thick with 
canes, and being so much elated on recovering the three little 
broken-hearted girls, prevented our making further search. 
We sent them off without their moccasins, and not one of 
them with so much as a knife or a tomahawk." 

In introducing this extract, it was said that it will 
always remain among the most interesting of the true 
narratives of the border and the frontier ; for it can- 
not be concealed that the historian finds his chief dis- 
com-agement in the record of the life and story of the 
bold and the brave, that Fiction has been in the field, 
and so occupied the place that belongs to Truth, that 
after the lapse of years, it is the most difficult duty to 
find what actually was done, rather than what was 
imagined. Especially vexatious is it to observe, that 
of this most eventful hour in the life of Boone, wh«n 
those dearest to him were taken from his side, and by 
his brave and sagacious pursuit so gallantly rescued, 
his amanuensis, Filson, who had the precious advan- 
tage of being where the very best opportunity pre- 
sented itself for knowing all the details from Boone, 



140 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

himself, should allow the affair to be so summarily 
disposed of in " these few lines ; " " On the fom-teenth 
day of July, 1776, two of Col. Calaway's daughters 
and one of mine, were taken prisoners near the fort. 
I immediately pursued the Indians, with only eight 
men, and on the sixteenth, overtook them, killed two 
of the party, and recovered the girls." Such is the 
narrative which Boone gives of an "affair, which, in 
the memoir of many another man, would have been 
the very jewel of his life ; and yet there is a noble- 
ness in the quiet language. Boone saw only his duty 
in the scene, and in that word — duty — he placed his 
energies. 

This-.fourteenth of July was a busy day for the new 
settlements. iN'ot content with the capture of the 
children, the Indians divided themselves into differ- 
ent parties, and attacked several other forts, ravaging 
and destroying the labor of the settler, and evincing, 
in their own cruel and characteristic manner, their 
determination to destroy the new empire of the white 
man, since it could only exist on the ruin of their 
own ; a sad truth which they soon began to realize. 

At this juncture the Indians seem to have made an 
organized series of attacks — skilful, watchful and 
cunning. The open field fight was never to the taste 
of the savage. lie desired such a fight as could b« 
had by a cover — from an ambush — out of a cane- 
brake — wherever the knowledge of the life passed 



INDIAN TACTICS. 141 

i*moiig the woods might make him mere than equal 
to the white man. In his entire history, this has been 
the j)olicj of the Indian. It is manifested at this day, 
in the expiring struggles of the western savage to re- 
tain some grasp of the great domain, once all his own. 
In the long and destructive war with the Seminoles 
in Florida, the terrible assaults which left their sad 
record in the death of so many of the very bravest 
and best of the army, were of this character. The 
Indian was patient and enduring beyond the white ; 
and the hours which the soldier gave to sleep, the 
savage employed in stratagem. He would use every 
art, every device and disguise, which his limited ob- 
servation suggested. He would linger and wait for 
the moment when the blow could be struck with most 
certainty, and it made the revenge most gratifying if 
the murderous fight could take the settler by sur- 
prise. They knew so much of the habits and appear- 
ance of the wild beasts, as to be able to imitate them, 
and used their knowledge in making such imitation a 
part of their system of warfare. But in all this, they 
had not the concentrated purpose of the white man. 
To them, the plot which did not at the instant suc- 
ceed, became valueless ; hence, if the yell and the 
shout, the midnight blow, and the rush from the am- 
bush, was unsuccessful, their disappointment was ex- 
cessive ; and it does not seem that they had, as the 
eettlers had, plans in preparation to take tlie place of 



142 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

those suddenly frustrated. The poor Indian used the 
tactics which his limited knowledge suggested ; but, 
horrible as they were in appearance, it was extraordi- 
nary circumstances which ever made them trium- 
phant over the whites. 

Boone narrates the sufferings of the settlers with 
more detail and more feeling than is used in the allu- 
sion which he gives to the capture of his daughter. 
It touched him keenly that the Indian seemed to neg- 
lect no hour which, either by night or day, promised 
to afford some opportunity for assault. He says it 
was extremely distressing. The Indians shot down 
the cattle", and attempted to kill the innocent hus- 
bandmen, while engaged in cultivating the soil for 
his family's support. Evidently, the Indian had 
grown enraged in witnessing the calm and determined 
manner in which, under the guidance and leadership 
of Boone, the signs of a permanent establishment of 
the settlements were manifesting themselves. 

This was one of those periods in the history of Ken- 
tucky when it trembled in the balance, whether all 
that had been gained in the attempt to civilize and 
subdue the wilderness should be maintained or sur- 
rendered. Boone seems to have been equal to the 
emergency. He had known the savage so thoroughly, 
that they had no device but that his memory suggest- 
ed a parallel in his exi3eriences, and he was prepared 
to meet it. The poor settlers, scattered about, looked 



ALARM OF THE SETTLEKS. 143 

to him as their great leader, and he maintained his 
position. It seems to have been of the characteris- 
tics of his remarkable career, that when the perils 
and the responsibilities of the scene concentrated, and 
became collected upon one, he was there to sustain 
them, and when the most dangerous hour was over, 
and the excitement of greater numbers was experi- 
enced, he stepped aside from the place of power, and 
Bought to conceal himself rather than to obtrude. 
Now, the settlements all around him were in trouble, 
and his own narrative indicates how deeply he gave 
his sympathies. He realized that if the settlers were 
compelled to retreat all might be lost, and the labor 
of years thrown aside. 

There were those in the forts, and especially at 
Boonsborough, who had made all their calculations 
for peaceful experiences. They were sensible of the 
value of the land, but w^ere not willing to live in a 
succession of alarms. The whole country was pass- 
ing into that condition of war and rumors of war, 
which the struggle with Great Britain produced. The 
timid and the irresolute left the settlements and re- 
treated to the seaboard. The Indian soon became 
aware that he had, in the royalist, a new ally, and the 
new hope sprung in his heart, of conquering, by the 
aid of the British, the colonists, or at least of driving 
them back again beyond the mountain passes, which 
had been crossed at such hazard and with such bra- 



144: LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

very. The alarm was on every midnight hour. The 
Indian essayed to surprise the solitary sentinel, or to 
seize the wanderer from the fort. It w^as a frequent 
accompaniment of the night, that the yell of an at- 
tack designed to be murderous, was heard at the very 
gates. These were no times for those who had come 
into the new colony only to make merchandize of its 
lands. It was not for such traffic with horrors that 
they had prepared themselves, and they found it easy 
to persuade thejnselves that it w^as wisest to let the 
storm pass over, before they finished their plans. They 
left, and in such numbers as materially to embarrass 
the colony. Col. Henderson found it easier to dis- 
pose of his lands in Transylvania than to people them 
with men prepared for tlie battle, as well as for the 
council. They left, ready to come back when the 
bold and brave men wlio remained, should have pro- 
claimed that the foe had been extirpated. Boone saw 
his duty in remaining, to be, as he was, the calm and 
brave leader, who, with a sagacity and courage that 
had no ebb or flow, kept quietly on, whether the In- 
dian dissembled in false peace, or raged in anger. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

THE KEVOLUTIONARY WAR HARASSED BY THE INDIANS -- GEN. CLARKe's 

JOURNAL JULITARY FORCE OF THE SETTLEMENTS HENDERSON's LAND 

TITLES THE COMPROMISE THE SETTLERS* PETITION TO BB TAKEN UN- 
DER THE PROTECTION OF VIRGINIA THE INDIANS ATTACK BOONESBOROUQH 

FORT AND ARE REPULSED THE ATTACK RENEWED BY GREATER NUMBERS 

THE WHITES AGAIN SUCCESSFUL REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVE NEWS 

ARRIVES OF Washington's victory over howe. 

Evidently, the commencement of hostilities with 
Great Britain entered deeply in its effect on the con- 
dition of the colony. When the Indian was alone, 
and had against him all the population, he was bad 
enough, and his cunning and his cruelty made the 
possession of a frontier farm, a scene of constant 
alarm ; but when that Indian came in the increased 
force of an ally of a powerful government, willing to 
supply him with the arms and munitions of war, a,f» • 
whose leaders seemed to have calculated on the attach 
of the Indian as a most summary way of breaking up 
the labor of the pioneer — when the Indian was seen 
thus allied, the settler had good reason to tremble 
The fort at Boonesborough was the object of distinct 
and determined haded. It was the place where the 
strength of the settler concentrated, and in which and 
G 10 



146 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

from which it could be made available. All theso 
circumstances tended to thin out the inhabitants of 
the fort, but those that staid were of the class of men 
whose names are always written in their country's 
sufferings and successes. 

That winter of 1776-77 was a gloomy one. As the 
solitary messenger found his way from the seaboard, 
he brought the news of a deeper and deeper gloom 
of war w^ith a great nation ; of commerce destroyed 
and trade relinquished ; of old communities needing 
all their resources for self-support and self-protection ; 
and of the certainty that but little of assistance could 
be spared to the frontier. It told of the determina- 
tion expressed in arming and scheming ; in the trans- 
port of soldiery ; in fierce threatening ; in parliament- 
ary denuuciation and royal resolves to make the war a 
short one, by a vigorous campaign. If these were sad 
tidings to the populated colonies of the Atlantic, what 
alarm was there in all this, for the scattered forts of 
the wi] lerness ! It was just such an hour as is ever 
the frame which receives the Man, and Boone filled 
it — filled it with an ability which it is not yet too late 
to eulogize. 

In the fort and outside the fort, the Indian made 
Boone and the colonists aware of their unrelenting 
enmity. McClung says, they were incessantly ha- 
rassed by flying parties of Indians. While at work 
in the fields, they were waylaid, and while hunting, 



HARASSED BY INDIANS. 14:7 

shot at ; and the welcome to the first of the garrison 
who appeared in the morning, was a shot from some 
Indian who had, for the purpose, watched during 
all the night ! 

If any one doubts that this, all over the colonies, 
was a period of peril, let them read the testimony of 
Gen. Washington — February 10, 1776 — written to 
Joseph Reed, and which portrays the real condition 
of the country : 

"I know the unhappy predicament in which I stand. I 
know that much is expected of me ; I know that, without 
men, without arms, without amunition, without anything fit 
for the accommodation of a soldier, little is to be done, and, 
what is mortifying, I know that I cannot stand justified to 
the world without exposing my own w^eakness, and injuring 
the cause by declaring my wants, which I am determined 
not to do, farther than unavoidable necessity brings every 
man acquainted with them. My situation is so irksome to 
me at times, that if I did not consult the public good, more 
than my own tranquillity, I should long ere. nis, have put 
everything on the cast of a die. So far from my having an 
army of twenty thousand men, well armed, I have been here 
with less than half that number, including sick, furloughed, 
and on command, and those neither armed nor clothed as 
they should be. hi short, my situation has been such, that 
I have been obliged to use art to conceal it from my own 
officers." 

The Colonies had too much to do in looking after 
their own safety, to give much attention to the fron 



1^8 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

tier ; and thougli a reinforcement for the fort, from 
Yirginia, l^ad been expected, it did not arrive. This 
added to the causes which dishearted so many. The 
Indian found out that the numbers were lessening, 
and it renewed the vigor of his attack. Where- 
ever the settler exposed himself, he w^as attacked ; 
and he was a bold man who ventured out of the pro- 
tection of th e guns of the fort. 

The interesting, though too brief, diary of George 
Rogers Clarke, in its memoranda of the chief occur- 
rences of th'3 winter, illustrates this scene of constant 
alarms. It is in extraordinary contrast to what would 
now be the record of the rich land where quiet citi- 
zens follow in their honest occupations the arts of 
peace. Though a few lines suffice to tell the story, 
there is moaning in each line. The record is of the 
death of tho pioneers — of the men who sought to sub- 
due the wilr!erness, and who, like Boone, left the or- 
dinary routine of existence to write theirnames in bold 
service for their country. 

Gen. Clarke thus notes the incidents of the times : 

" Dec. 25ih. Ten men, going to the Ohio for powder, 
met on the waters of the Licking Creek by Indians, and de- 
feated. John G. Jones, William Graden, and Josiah Dixon 
were killed. 

"Z)?c. 29. A. A large party of hidians attacked McClel- 
land's Fort, ?iid wounded John McClelland, Charles White, 
Eobert TorM, and Edward Worthington — the two first 
mortally. 



GEN. Clarke's journal. 149 

« Dec, 30^A. Charles White died of his wound. 

" Jan. Qth, 1 717. John McClelland died of his wound. 

" March bth. Thomas Shores and William Ray killed at 
the Shawanese spring. The Indians attempted to cut off 
from the fort a small paity of our men ; a skirmish ensued ; 
we had four men wounded, and some cattle kiLed. A small 
party of Indians attacked, killed, and scalped Hugh Wilson. 
A large party of Indians attacked the stragglers about the 
fort." 

Sucli is the journal of the occurrences of that me- 
morable winter. It was gloomy and sad. It exhib- 
its, with the accuracy of a recital made tit the very 
time, how fearful was that pioneer enterprise at that 
time. In the midst of all of it, Boone ren^.ained firm. 
He seems to have been the man on whose judgment 
they all relied. Characterized as he has been, by a 
competent historian, as having " a quicl^ perception 
of expedients — much prudence and caation — un- 
yielding perseverance, and determined valor, com- 
bined with superior strength and activity cf person " 
— he was the true leader for this long-coatinued and 
severe trial. He kept the great wheel of civilization 
from rolling back. 

At this time, the whole military force of the col- 
ony was about one hundred men, of which Boones- 
borough had twenty-two, Harrodsburgh sixty-five, 
and Logan's Fort fifteen. Three hundred had gone 
back, alarmed at the positive peril which was so im- 
minent. While all those who were left had the con 



150 ltfp: of dantel "nooNE. 

Btant and harassing duty of a day and night guard 
while the savage kept his fierce watch ; while all 
these dangers pressed and calamities impended — the 
settlement of the country was becoming a fixed and 
a permanent thing. The Colony of Transylvania was 
preparing to become, by another name, known among 
the communities of men. 

Col. Henderson found his domain a source of great 
trouble and vexation. The Proprietary Government 
which he had attempted to establish, found its decay 
in the impression, which soon became general, that 
Col. Henderson had taken too much upon himself in 
asserting the validity of his title, and that there was 
danger in holding land whose possession had no bet- 
ter avouchment. The bold independence of his course 
made him an object of jealous supervision by Vir- 
ginia. This convening of a Legislature by a Lord 
Proprietor, was a step which it was needful to main- 
tain with more power than he could command. 

Those who were brought by him from North Caroli- 
na, believed in his title — their attachment being prob- 
ably somewhat the result of the old clanship feeling 
which the Scotch had introduced into that State. Not 
80 with the Virginians, who believed in their own "An- 
cient Dominion," over all the " western parts of 
Fincastle county on the Kentucky River," as that do- 
main was designated. There were others (and they 
may have been of that class )rho kept clear of all 



Henderson's land title. 151 

clanger) wlio contented themselves with securing good 
lands, and declining to perfect a title till the mastery 
was settled. 

T'.e E-oyal Charter, as Yirginiaread it, gave to her 
all the land to which the designation of Kentucky 
had been given ; and when Col. Henderson purchased 
the title of the Indians, he usurped, (so Yirginia 
claimed,) the preemption or right of purchase which 
belonged to the colony. The title of Henderson was 
declared null and void ; but Henderson was a man of 
power and influence, as has been shown, and he had 
so much persuasion over the government, that a spe- 
cies of compromise was made, by which his claim 
was considered good as against the Indians. It an- 
ticipates to say that he received a liberal grant of 
land lying on the Ohio, below the mouth of Green 
Eiver, and twelve miles square. He deserved it ; for 
to him does, in all probability, Kentucky owe the 
gratitude belonging to him who brought Daniel Boone 
prominently into the stirring action of public life. 

It was an important feature in tlie series of troubles 
which surrounded Boone, that this was the season of 
the great and growing discontents in relation to these 
land titles. It probably stirred the blood of the sol- 
dier and the ]3ioneer, to find that so many of those 
who came into the wilderness, did so, the better to 
pursue some cool and calculating plot against the 
owners of the soil. The land speculators never were 



152 LIFE OF DANIEL EOONE. 

of that class of men to wliom Boone assimilated, and 
he could not but be indignant that when such im- 
minent j)eril, as that which now surrounded them, re- 
quired the united action of all, Col. Henderson, who 
had done so much to form the colony, should be so 
traduced. Tliere is a curious document in existence. 
It is styled "A petition of the inhabitants and some 
of the intended settlers of that part of ITorth Amer- 
ica, now denominated Transylvania," addressed to 
the Convention of Virginia. It so forcibly illustrates 
the history of the country, that a cop}^ of the mate- 
rial part of it is given : 

" Whereas some of your petitioners became adventurers 
in that country, from the advantageous reports of their friends 
who first explored it, and others since allured by the specious 
show of the easy terms on which the land was to be pur- 
chased from those who style themselves proprietors, have, at 
a great expense and many hardships, settled there, under the 
faith of holding the lands by an indefeasible title, which those 
gentlemen assured them they were capable of making. But 
your petitioners have been greatly alarmed at the late con- 
duct of those gentlemen, in advancing the price of the pur- 
uiase money from twenty shillings to fifty shillings sterling, 
per hundred acres, and, at the same time, have increased the 
fees of entry and surveying to a most exorbitant rate ; and, 
by the short period prefixed for taking up the lands, even on 
thos'e extravagant terms, they plainly evince their intfiitiuns 
of rising in their demands as the settlers increase, or, iheir 
msatiable avarice shall dictate. And your petitioners have 
been more justly alarmed at such unaccountable and arbitra- 



PETITION. 15o 

ry proceedings, as they have lately learned, frorpt a copy of 
the deed made by the Six Nations with Sir William John- 
son, and the commissioners from this colony, at Fort Stan- 
wix, in the year 1768, that the said lands were included in 
the cession or grant of all that tract which lies jn the south 
side of the rivers Ohio, beginning at the mouth of Cherokee 
or Hogohege River, and extending up the said River Ketta- 
ning. And, as in preamble of the said deed, the said con- 
federate Indians declare the Cherokee River to be their true 
boundary with the southard Indians. 

" Your petitioners may,with great reason, doubt the valid- 
ity of the purchase that those proprietors have made of the 
Cherokees — the only title they set up to the lands for which 
they demand such extravagant sums from your petitioners, 
without any other assurance for holding them, than their own 
deed and warrantee ; a poor security, as your petitioners 
honestly apprehend, for the money that, among other new 
and unreasonable regulations, these proprietors insist should 
be paid down on the delivery of the deed. And, as we have 
the greatest reason to presume that his majesty, to whom 
the lands were deeded by the Six Nations, for a valuable 
consideration, will vindicate his title, and think himself at 
liberty to grant them to such persons, and on such terms asi 
he pleases, your petitioners would, in consequence thereof, 
be turned out of possession, or obliged to purchase their 
lands and improvements on such terms as the new grantee 
of proprietor might think fit to impose ; so that ^\e cannot 
help regarding the demands of Mr. Henderson and company 
as highly unjust and impolitic, in the infant sta e of the set- 
tlement, as well as greatly injurious to your petitioners, who 
would cheerfully have paid the consideration at first stipula- 
ted by the company, whenever their grant had been confirmed 
by the crown, or otherwise authenticated by the supreme 
G* 



154 hWE OF DAKIEL BOONE. 

Legislature. And, as we are anxious to concur, in every re^ 
spect, with our brethren of the United Colonies, for our just 
rights and privileges, as far as our infant settlement and re- 
mote situation will admit of, 

" We humbly expect and implore to be taken under the 
protection of the honorable Convention of the Colony of 
Virginia, -of which we cannot help thinking ourselves still a 
part, and request your kind interposition in our behalf, that 
we may not suffer under the rigorous demands and imposi- 
tion of the gentlemen styling themselves proprietors, who, 
the better to effect their oppressive designs, have given them 
the color of a law, enacted by a score of men, artfully picked 
from the few adventurers who went to see the country last 
summer, overawed by the presence of Mr. Henderson." 

The charge against tlie memorable Legislature that 
convened in the open air, and so wisely and with such 
dignity, essayed the duties of law-making, should 
have been omitted. There are about eighty-eight 
signatures to the memorial ; but it is gratifying to 
know that not one of those who were delegates from 
Boonesborough to the Jjegislature of Transylvania, 
affixed their names to it. The declaration, by the 
General Assembly of Virginia, against the title of the 
Transylvania Company, and the erection of the county 
of Kentucky, settled the question, and Transylvania, 
with all its brief annals, vanished into history. 

On the fifteenth of April, 1777, the Indians made 
an attack on Boonesborough, with a party of over one 
hundred, and notwithstanding all this great force — 
great in proportion to the small garrison — the latter 



ATTACK ON BOONESBOROUGH. 155 

"ost but one man. So faithfully did the savages keep 
within themselves the sad record of their own losses, 
which unquestionably were severe, that Boone was 
not able to tell what had been their suffering. In 
this engagement, as in many others, the Indians felt 
how powerless all their ferocity was against the civ- 
ilization of the whites. The Indian might have 
poured his fierce warriors into the fort, storming it, 
whatever was the bravery of the garrison, if the sav- 
age had known the uses of a scaling-ladder. But 
as they had not — having spent all their force on one 
desperate movement — thus repulsed, they fled, leav- 
ing the garrison painfully conscious that the time 
might come when bolder and better discipline might 
direct the forest warrior to victory. They carried off 
their dead — a practice, Boone says, common among 
them. It shows^the inefficiency of their judgment. 
It was done to prevent their loss being known, while 
its effect was so to embarrass and occupy the living, 
as to diminish their strength, just when they most 
needed it. 

The fight of the fifteenth of April being over, the 
garrison rested, but knew well that it was but for a 
brief period, and that a renewed at-tack might be ex- 
pected. 

Nor were they in error. On the fourth of July — 
a date which, for one year, had been a famous one — 
the campaign was renewed in a more determined 



166 LIFE OF DAlflEL BOOIirE. 

manner. At this time, the Indians had reinforced 
their nnmbers — a thing which the garrison would 
have been only too glad to have done, but which 
seemed almost impossible. Two hundred savages 
were in the fight, at this time, and the fort was sub- 
jected, for forty-eight hours, to their murderous at- 
tack. They used all their arts, and put forth all their 
strength. There were about ten Indians to one white 
man ; but the fort had been built by one who knew 
the strength of the Indian, and the means best adapt- 
ed to guard against him. The fort stood the onset 
during all these fearful hours. The woods were vocal 
with the war-cries of the infuriated Indian. Boone's 
garrison fought with the consciousness that defeat or 
surrender was the presage to a fierce death, and they 
fought with such wise courage and vigor, that, in all 
this siege, their loss was only the same as in the bat- 
tle of the fifteenth of April — one man — -and the 
number of their wounded, two less. All this, by in- 
ference, illustrates Boone's good judgment. He must 
have noticed, like a good commander, the every inci- 
dent of the former attack, and guarded and secured 
the most defenceless position. By the power of a 
good Providence, Boone successfully fought out this 
battle, also, and he, in simple language, records that, 
" finding themselves not likely to prevail, they raised 
the siege and departed," At this attack, the Indiana 
had, instead of concentrating all their force on on© 



CONTINUED SKIRMISHES. 157 

fort, separated into different parties, and by vigor- 
ously assaulting all the settlements, prevented their 
rendering to each other any assistance. Boone knew 
the Indians well, and calculated coolly on the proba- 
bilities of their arrival. The bold resistance and the 
slight loss, establishes the /act that he was at all 
times prepared for them, knowing, as he did, their 
desperation. 

And they were desperate. He says that they were 
numerous, and dispersed through the country, intent 
upon doing all the mischief that savage barbarity 
could invent. This last affair seems to have been the 
crisis of this campaign. He relates that on the twen 
ty-fifth of July, forty-five men arrived from North 
Carolina, and on the twentieth of August, Col. Bow- 
man arrived with one hundred men from Yirginia. 
Now they began to strengthen, and from hence, for 
the space of six weeks, they had skirmishes with the 
Indians, in one quarter or another, almost every day. 
The savages learned the superiority of the Long 
Knife, as they called the Yirginians, being outgen 
eraled in every battle. 

During all this period, the settlement of which 
Boone was in charge knew no peace — no exemption 
from the unrelenting hostility of the Indian, intent 
upon the most savage assault. Such was the educa- 
tion and the experiences of Boone with the Indiau. 
Such a life has made niost men revengeful and cruel. 



158 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

It is in scenes like these that the pioneer was taught 
to consider the Indian as a wild beast, subject to the 
same law of unrelenting extermination, and to be pui- 
sued and trodden down with enduring memory of 
wrong. And it is here that the character of Boone 
rises above his contemporaries. He seems to have 
always met the attacks of the Indian with a bravery 
that knew no diminution. He led campaigns. He 
was the first to break in upon their dominions — the 
first to lead successfully the footstep of a civilization 
they detested, and through whose influences they 
were fading from the earth ; and yet his life shows 
that he never seems to have gone beyond the line of 
his duty — never used his power in wanton cruelty ; 
and his kind treatment by the Indians, when he fell 
in their personal power, confirms this. They knew 
liim as a foe, but a generous and a brave one. 

Gen. Clarke's diary, before quoted, in its record for 
May, 1777, has the following entry : 

" Marj 23d A large party of Indians attacked Boonesbor 
cugh Fort. Kept a warm fire till 11 o'clock at night. Bo- 
gun it next morning, and kept a warm fire till midnight, 
atteinpting several times to burn the fort. Three of our 
men were wounded — not mortally. 

" 2^th. A party went out to hunt Indians — one wounded 
Squire Boone, and escaped." 

Boone does Tiot appear to have made record of this, 
and it is quite probable that the entry in General 



NEWS OF noWES DEFEAT. 159 

Clarke's jonrnal may be an error of date. It indicates 
the life which the garrison was compelled to lead ; 
nor will the incident be passed over, that the faithful 
and bold brother of Boone was by his side. 

Abont the twentieth of September, news was re- 
ceiv^ed at Boone's residence that Gen. Washington 
had defeated Howe, and it spread through the settle- 
ment by express. It gave the settlers the knowledge 
of the great man whose career^ as the leader of his 
country to victory, had begun. Gen. Clarke, in no- 
ting in his diary, says, ''''Joyful news^ if trueP It 
was only by some messenger reaching them at peril 
of his life, that these pioneers received the news of 
the great movements of the country, though them- 
selves all the while were acting a bold 2^art in the 
struggle, though so remote from the public observa- 
tion, that they might have been annihilated, and not 
a vestige of the settlement left, before aid could have 
been rendered them by the far-off, seaboard States. 




CHAPTER IX. 

eiX. GEORGE R. CLARKE VIRGINIA GRANTS POWDER TO THE COLONY THS 

BRITISH GARRISONS AT DETROIT, VINCENNES, AND KASKASKIA GENERAL 

CLARKE SECURES THE AID OF BOONE SIMON KENTON HIS CAPTIVITT AND 

CRUEL TREATMENT BY THE INDIANS HIS RESCUE THE ANTICIPATED RE- 
UNION OF THE SURVIVORS THE OLD AGE OF KENTON AN INDIAN AT- 
TACK BOONE IS WOUNDED AND NARROWLY ESCAPES BOONE's DARING 

AND SERVICES TO THE EMIGRANTS BOONE, WITH THIRTY MEN, PLANS AN 

EXPEDITION TO THE BLUE LICKS. 

Gen. George Rogers Clarke, it seems to be con- 
ceded by historians, was tbe great military leader of 
Kentucky — taking the direction of those affairs, the 
foundation for the success of which Boone, in his ca- 
pacity as pioneer, had laid. To him that great State 
is deeply indebted, and her historians have given full 
measure to their praise. He had shown his power in 
the Council, when he overthrew the claim of Hender- 
son, and he was entering on a long and glorious ca- 
reer in the field. He had been engaged in " Dun* 
morel's " war, and at its close had been offered a com 
mission in the English service, which, fortunately for 
his own country, he declined. 

He had impressed the settlers in Transylvania with 
the conviction that their allegiance was due to, as 
their titles should come from, Yirginia ; and he was 



GRANT OF POWDER FROM VIRGINIA. ICl 

cliosen as their commissioner or representative to tlie 
General Assembly of Virginia. He consulted with 
Governor Henry, who took it into his counsels to ad- 
vise, on a subject so important, his best men. Clarke 
told the story of the frontier, and requested from Vir- 
ginia the material aid of five hundred weight of gun- 
powder. But it was even then doubtful whether the 
claim of Henderson might not be established, and the 
ammunition was only conditionally provided. Strange 
that such men as were gathered at that Council, 
would not listen to the recital of the real condition 
of the frontier — of its harassing difficulties — of the 
alliance of the Indians with the British — and that 
Boonesborough stood as a bulwark to resist the 



All this was unheeded. Virginia did not realize 
that in the calm bravery of Daniel Boone, the savage 
found an obstacle, the which if he could surmount, 
his way was open to a long march of wild fury 
against the settlements of the Virginians. The Coun- 
cil made so many conditions about the powder, that 
Clarke told them, in memorable phrase, that " a coun- 
try which was not worth defending was not worth 
claiming." This allusion to an independent sovereign- 
ty, recalled the Council to reason, and the ammuni- 
tion was sent. 

Upon his return. Gen. Clarke made such examina- 
tion of the Bcene and circumstances of the Indian 

11 



162 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

warfare, as to induce him to concentrate his views to 
this — that to strike the boldest blow, was to conquer 
Detroit, Yincennes, and Kaskaskia, where were the 
stations from which the savages obtained supplies of 
ammunition and food. It was at these places that tho 
Indians learned that a reward would be given for 
their production of human scalps ! and that prisoners 
would be the most acceptable gifts. He formed his 
plan — visited Virginia — laid it before the best of 
Virginia — • before Jefferson, and Henry, and Wythe, 
and Mason ; and, encouraged by them, went forward. 
He needed men who knew the whole frame-work of 
Indian life, and he selected Daniel Boone. To tho 
Pioneer who had kept Boonesborough, any bold ser- 
vice might be assigned ; and it is another of the great 
incidents of his history, that authority, in looking for 
tliose who would, with most fearlessness and good 
judgment, conduct a great undertaking, found its 
search concentrated on him. 

Collins states, that the war in Kentucky had been 
a border war, and its conduct an irregular and a pre- 
datory one — more like the scenes which Scott so of- 
ten describes, and which characterized the counties 
that lay on the line separating England from Scotland. 
Every man fought for himself — selecting his own 
ground, and determining his own time — and finishing 
the campaign when he chose. " The solitary back- 
woodsman would sharpen his hunting knife, shoulder 



INDIANS ENCOURAGED BY THE EKITISH. 163 

liis rifle, and provide liimself with a small quantity 
of parched corn as a substitute for bread, and then 
start on an expedition into the Indian country." Hft 
soon learned to more than rival the Indian in all stra- 
tagem and concealment, and to seize every opportu- 
nity of harassing the foe. 

The garrisons of Detroit, Yincennes and Kaskaskia, 
lost no opportunity of promoting and encouraging 
the Indian depredations on the Kentucky frontier, and 
to prejudice their own people against the frontier set- 
tlers. The Indian, if he could come back to strong 
military posts, whence he could again issue, laden 
with all that he desired with which to continue the 
warfare, was willing to see the war go on. He did 
not comprehend that it was for him a choice whether 
he should have a British or an American master ; but 
considering the settlers as his foe, he gladly made his 
offensive and defensive league with the adherents of 
the crown, and believed himself likely to retake all 
his old hunting ground. For this he knew no step 
so decisive, as to destroy Boonesborough. That fort 
was obnoxious, because it had been a first effort of 
the settler, and had been a successful one ; and it was 
dreaded, because it held in safety the man who had 
shown the world that the skill of the white man was 
proof even against the terrors of a solitude in the 
wilderness, when its sway by the savage was undis- 
puted. 



164 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOIST:. 

Boone was aware of all tlie subtlety of the Indian, 
and seems to have met it at all its different exhibi- 
tions. When Gen. Clarke assumed the general supei^ 
vision of the frontier settlements, a company of spies 
was organized, for the payment of whom, the general 
pledo^ed the faith of Yirffinia. Tlie value of their 
service was appreciated in every hour. These men, 
taking the duty by detachments, roamed up and down 
the Ohio, keeping a bright watch for signs of Indian 
approach, as Boone did not intend that his fort should 
encounter a second sudden attack. He appointed 
two of these spies — and one of these was the re- 
nowned Simon Kenton — a man whose career of mem- 
orable activity v/as so distinguished, that in the an- 
nals of Kentucky he is placed second only to our 
great Pioneer, as among the founders of the State. 
It has ever been among the qualities of those who 
write their names illustriously in the annals of the 
world, that when called to lead in great enterprises, 
their selection of those who shall be their assistants, 
is such as to indicate their acute knowledge of men 
and estimate of character. In selecting Kenton, 
Boone brought into service a man whose name is 
cherished in Kentucky as the bold and brave. 

The life of Kenton was one of romance. At the 
age of sixteen he had fixed his affections on a young 
girl, who did not return them, but preferred another. 
Kenton was an uninvited guest at the wedding, and 



SIMON KENTON. 165 

in the rougli manners of those days, was severely 
handled. Meeting his favored rival some short time 
afterwards, a fight ensued, in which Kenton thought 
he had killed him, and he fled* the society of civilized 
man. He changed his name to Simon Butler, 
plunged into the forest, and thenceforth, one stirring 
adventure after the other succeeded, in all of which 
he bore a bold part — courageous and vigorous — and 
encompassed by danger constantly. 

He suffered all manner of cruelty ; eight times he 
was condemned to run the gauntlet, always one of 
the most cruel of the Indian inventions of horror ; 
three times tied to the stake ; once nearly killed by 
a blow from an axe. He knew all the terrors of be- 
ing the Indian's foe. On one occasion he had taken 
an Indian horse, and soon afterwards fell into their 
hands. " After beating him till their arms were too 
tired to indulge that gratifying recreation any longer, 
they secured him for the night. This was done by 
first placing him upon his back to the ground. They 
next drew his legs apart, and lashed each foot firmly 
to stakes, or saplings, driven in the ground. A pole 
was then laid across his breast, and his hands ti^d to 
each end, and his arms lashed with thongs around it, 
the thoDgs passing under his body so as to keep the 
pole stationary. After all this, another thong was 
passed around his neck, and the end of it secured to 
a stake in the ground, his head being stretched back 



IGO LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

SO as not entirely to choke him. In this original man- 
ner he was left to pass the night. The detail of this 
cruelty is not inappropriate to this history, as the con- 
trast between this treatment, and that to which Boone 
was subjected when a prisoner, as he on several occa- 
sions was, indicates very apparently, that towards 
Boone, the Indians, while they recognized him as the 
great leader in the settlements they hated, and the 
expeditions that destroyed them, — yet such was their 
confidence in his real worth, that towards him they 
had no bitterness of revenge. All this confirms the 
idea that the Indians never confounded Boone with 
the mere Indian-killer. They could respect a mag- 
nanimous foe ; and Boone had often the greatest rea- 
son to congratulate himself that he had been an open 
and an honorable warrior — never striking the unne- 
cessary blow, but ending the fight when the victory 
was w^on. 

At the age of twenty-four, Kenton was rescued from 
captivity, by the wife of an Indian trader — a Mrs. 
Harvey — who was won by his, fine, manly deport- 
ment. To his latest hour, the old man recollected the 
interposition of this lady, and her pleasant image 
filled a thousand dreams. This affair is kindred to 
the romances w^hich were frequent in the hunter's 
life, making their true history replete with incidents 
so singular as to be kindred to the fictions of the ro- 
mancer. 



167 

" This lady had become interested in him, and upon his 
solicitation, promised to assist him and two other Kentucki- 
ans, prisoners with him, to procure rifles, ammunition, <fec.; 
without which, a journey through the wilderness could not 
be performed. Engaging in their cause with all the enthu- 
siasm of her sex, she only awaited an opportunity to per- 
form her promise. She had not long to wait. On the third 
of June, 1779, a large concourse of Indians assembled at 
Detroit, to take a " spree." Preparatory to getting drunk, 
they stacked their guns near Mrs. Harvey's house, who, as 
soon as it was dark, stole silently out to the guns, selected 
three of the best looking, and quickly hid them in her gar- 
den, in a patch of peas. Avoiding all observation, she has- 
tened to Kenton's lodgings, and informed him of her success. 
She told him, at midnight, to come to the back of her gar- 
den, where he would find a ladder by means of which he 
could climb over and get the guns. She had previously 
collected such articles of food, clothing, ammunition, &;c., as 
would be necessary in their adventure. These she had hid 
in a hollow tree, well known to Kenton, some distance out 
of town. No time was now to be lost, and the prisoners at 
once set about getting things in order for their flight. At 
the appointed hour, Kenton, with his companions, appeared 
at the designated spot, discovered the ladder, and climbed 
into the garden, where they found Mrs. Harvey sitting by 
the guns, awaiting his arrival. To the eyes of the grateful 
young hunter, no woman ever looked so beautiful. 

" There was little time, however for compliments, for all 
around could be heard the yells of the drunken savages 
— the night was far advanced, and in the morning the gune 
would be missed. Takhig an afi:ectionate leave of him, with 
many tender wishes for his safety, she now urged him to be 
gone. Heaping thanks and blessings on her, he left her, and 



16S LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

rejoined his companions. Kenton never saw her afterwards 
but he never forgot her, for more than half a century after 
wards, when the wilderness, and the savages who peopled it, 
were alike exterminated before the civilizing march of the 
Anglo Saxon, the old pioneer, in words that glowed with 
gratitude and admiration, delighted to dwell on the kindness, 
and expatiate on the courage and virtue of his benefactress, 
the fair trader's wife. In his reveries he said he had seen 
her a thousand times sitting by the guns in the garden." 

Simon Kenton (for when he ascertained that he had 
not killed the young man with whom he had the en- 
counter, he took his own name again,) lived to be a 
ver}^ old man, and as such addressed to the present 
gene ration one of the last words which the pioneers 
spoke. When, in the fall of 1782, Gen. Clarke, to re- 
venge the disaster of the Blue Licks, spread, with an- 
other army of fifteen hundred men, disaster and de- 
struction through the whole Indian country, Kenton 
was in command of the army. His experience in the 
service of Boone had given him an unsurjDassed know- 
ledge of woodcraft, and he was the reliance of the 
army. When this expedition was returning, and 
when they were at the mouth of the Licking, on 
November 4th, the romantic engagement was made 
that those who survived for fifty years, should meet 
and talk over the perils of the past. This was fii'st 
suggested, strange as it may seem, by a dying soldier, 
who breathed his last as he was descending the hill 
near the place where Gincinnatti, in all the glories of 



REUNION OF THE ?IONEEKS. 169 

a great city, now arises. It was then all one dense 
wilderness — the forest was the occupant of the land, 
whose value is now estimated only by millions. 

The fifty 3^ears, in the sure progress of the wheels 
of time, rolled around, and the fourth of E'ovember, 
1832, was the day when this extraordinary reunion 
was to take place. Simon Kenton had not forgotten 
it, and to encourage the attendance of all who sur- 
vived, he wrote the following address — a gentle and 
a kindly word for the Old Brave : 

*' Fellow Citizens: — Being one of the first, after Col. 
Daniel Boone, who aided in the conquest of Kentucky, and 
the west, I am called upon to address you. My heart melts 
on such an occasion. I look forward to the contemplated 
meeting with melancholy pleasure ; it has caused tears to 
flow in copious showers. I wish to see once more before I 
die, my surviving friends. My solemn pledge made fifty 
years ago, binds me to meet them. I ask not for myself, 
but you may find in our assembly some who have never re- 
ceived any pay or pension, who have sustained the cause of 
their country, equal to any other service, who in the decline 
of life are poor. Then you prosperous sons of the west for- 
get not those old and gray-headed veterans on this occasion; 
let them return to their families with some little manifesta- 
tion of your kindness, to cheer their hearts. I add my 
prayer: may kind heaveif grant us a clear sky, fair and 
pleasant weather — a safe journey and a happy meeting, and 
smile upon us, and our families, and bless us and our nation, 
on the approaching occasion. 

"Simon Kenton." 
H 



170 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

The cholera, in its wild ravages, prevented the 
meeting from being attended as could have been de- 
sired. The municipal authorities of the great city of 
Cincinnati, entertained those who did attend ; but the 
pestilence being in the city, deterred the old man from 
approaching it. lie shared the usual fate of the pio- 
neer. The State that he had built up, forgot him, or 
recognized him only by the cheap pageant of a formal 
welcome to Frankfort, by the Legislature there as- 
sembled — a welcome somewhat in contrast to the 
fact that he had been allowed to wander in tattered 
garments, an unknown sti'anger, through the streets. 
The recompense his country gave him, at last, and 
that obtained through the good offices of Judge Bur- 
nett and Gov. Yance — was a pension of two hundred 
and forty dollars. lie died in April, 1836, " in sight 
of the place where the Indians, fifty-eight years be- 
fore, had proposed to torture him to death." He died 
surrounded by his family and friends, and 8uj)ported 
by the consolations of the gospel. 

Our readers will not overlook the significant ex- 
pression which the old man uses, in his letter : " Be- 
ing one of the first, after Colonel Daniel Boone^ who 
aided in the conquest of Kentucky, and the West." 
He brings his most valuable testimony to the fame of 
the great Pioneer, and places him in tlie front of those 
who aided in securing for civilized man, the west — 
the word which is now identified witli a great nation, 



MEN ATTACKED NEAR THE FORT. 17 1 

every hour rising higher and higher in all the worth 
and wealth that makes a community illustrious — the 
word which has gone throughout the earth, as desig- 
nating the land where, in the midst of free institu- 
tions, the path to prosperity lies fully open to whoever 
treads it with honest industry. Boone gave to his 
countrymen the kej to all this priceless region. 

During Boone's occupancy of the fort, he had con- 
stant occasion to see the value of an efficient and un- 
ceasing guard. He knew his foe, and he felt that 
with such an enemy, there Avas no hour for quiet. On 
one occasion, Kenton, while engaged in the spy ser- 
vice, for which he had been detailed by Boone, early 
.one morning, having loaded his gun for the chase, and 
just before leaving being at the gate of the fort, saw 
that two men in the fields were fired upon by the In- 
dians. The men were not hit, and ran, the Indians 
being in pursuit, and the pursuit was successful. So 
closely did horrors encompass the walls of Boonesbo- 
rough, that one of these poor fellows was tomahawked 
and scalped within a few hundred feet of the fort. 
Kenton soon turned the order of things, shooting the 
savage dead, and giving chase to others. Boone, in 
the fort, hearing the alarm, rushed out with ten men. 
The Indians did not retreat without a fight — Kenton 
killing one of them in the act of firing at Boone's 
party. Engaged in this skirmish, Boone did not at 
first perceive in how large force the Indians had 



173 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

gathered. He found himself suddenly cut off by a 
body of savages who had placed themselves between 
him and the fort. The hour was one of those in 
which a bold movement is the only one that can be 
made. He gave the word for a fire and a charge, 
and his men obeyed him ; but in their onset, the In- 
dians gave one fearful fire, and Boone and six of his 
men fell to the ground, wounded. Boone's leg was 
broken, and an Indian was after his life, for in a 
moment the uplifted tomahawk was over his head. 
Kenton's sure rifle ended the scene, bringing down 
the savage, and rescuing Boone. They succeeded in 
getting — wounded and all — into the gate. The nar- 
rative significantly says, that Boone was a silent mcm^ 
and not given to compliment^ but was warm in his 
gratitude to Kenton. Such were the scenes which 
relieved the dullness of frontier life ! 

The times were busy — busy in all the incidents of 
w\ar. The hand of the colonist, on seaboard and fron- 
tier, was ready at a moment to strike for the fulfill- 
ment of the pledges made at Philadelphia, on July 
4th, 1776. But in tlie midst of all the strife, the em- 
igration to the land opened by Boone, went on. Tlie 
rich soil — the delightful climate — the independent 
home, attracted the traveler; and, with and without 
a family,the settler dared all the horrors of Indian 
neighborhood, for the luxury of being the master of, 
and living on, his own land. Mr. Peck truthfully 



173 

and interestingly narrates that the record of the ser- 
vices rendered by Boone to the emigrants, would 
be a volume of memorials of the best of actions. 

" As dangers thickened, and appearances grew more alarm- 
ing, as scouts came in with rumors of hidians seen here and 
there, and as the hardy and bold woodsmen sat around their 
camp-fires, with the loaded rifle at hand, rehearsing, for the 
twentieth time, the tale of noble daring, or the hair-breadth 
escape, Boone would sit silent, apparently not heeding the 
conversation, employed in repairing the rents in his hunting- 
shirt and leggins, moulding bullets, or cleaning his rifle. Yet 
the eyes of the garrison were upon him. Concerning ' In 
dian signs,' he was an oracle. Sometimes, with one or two 
trusty companions, but more frequently alone, as night closed 
ni, he would steal away noiselessly into the woods, to recon- 
noiter the surrounding wilderness ; and in the day-time, 
stealthily would he creep along, with his trusty rifle resting 
on his arm, ready for the least sign of danger ; his keen, 
piercing eyes, glancing into every thicket and cane-brake, or 
watching intently for ' signs ' of the wily enemy. Accus- 
tomed to range the country as a hunter and a scout, he would 
frequently meet the approaching travelers, on the road, and 
pilot them into the settlement, while his rifle suj^plied them 
with provisions. He was ever more ready to aid the com- 
munity, or engage in public services, than to attend to his 
private interests." 

When Boone was Slone in the wilds of Kentucky, 
for months without the companionship of one human 
being, he submitted to the severe deprivation of be- 
ing without b^cad, salt, or sugar. This was a trial 



174 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



which all were not so willing to endure. There was 
great complaint in the garrison for the want of salt. 
It was a necessity which entered into the business of 
life, and it must be had. It was a duty only to be 
performed amid peril, as certain to come as the pro- 
gress of time ; but the man to discharge the duty was 
at hand. Boone, who had thus far maintained the 
inviolability of his fort, defending it, and making it 
'the terror of the red man, determined to leave it for 
the even more dangerous position of a march, and an 
encampment, where there would be no forb to protect 
them, and where they would meet the Indian in cir- 
cumstances much more favorable to the success of the 
latter. He placed himself at the head of a party of 
thirty men, and left his family. He had often left 
them for scenes of peril, and he knew all the proba- 
bilities of these forays in sufficient force to make him 
notice that he was more likely to go out for the last 
time, than to return in safety ; but in this, as in all 
his life, he saw that his duty was to go forward, and 
be fulfilled that. 




CHAPTEE X. 

TTIK BLUE LICKS THE EXPEDITION BOONe's ADVENTURE "WITH TWO IN- 
DIANS THE INDIANS PLAN AN ATTACK BOONE IS TAKEN PRISONER WHILK 

HUNTING HIS PARTY SURRENDER AND ARE SPARED THROUGH HIS INFLU- 
ENCE BOONE IS AFTER^\•ARD8 TRIED BT COURT MARTIAL AND HONORABLY 

ACQUITTED BOONE AND HIS COMPANIONS ARE TAKEN TO OLD CHILLTCOTUB 

THENCE TO DETROIT REGARD OF THE ENGLISH FOG, BOONE THE IN- 
DIANS REFUSE A LARGE RANSOM THEY RETURN TO OLD CHILLICOTHE WITH 

BOONE ALONE THEY ADOPT HIM INTO THEIR TRIBE THEY SET HIM TO 

MAKING SALT, AND PERMIT HIM TO HUNT. 

Boone's expedition was to tlie Blue Licks, famous 
for their richness in the product of salt, and esteemed 
by the settler as the possession, in the defence of 
which all the force of the frontier should be engaged, 
riiej soon became memorable in the battle history of 
^hat region. The principal spring is situated on the 
northern bank of the Licking River, about two hun- 
dred yards from that stream. It is in Mcholas coun- 
ty, in the north-east middle part of Kentucky. They 
who now, at each return of the season, visit these 
springs, would not, but for the tradition, believe them- 
selves on the spot where the very Necessities of life 
were won only by fierce conflict, and whose ground 
will ever be memorable for its severe struggle bo- 



176 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

tween tlie settler and the savage. Tliere are now aL 
the elegancies of a fashionable watering-place — great 
hotels — the luxurious appendages of refinement — 
all that can minister to cultivation and taste. The 
house is of the vast length of six hundred and seventy 
feet, and there are galleries around it where the vis- 
itor can find his walk extended over eighteen hun- 
dred feet. 

All this is in strano-e contrast to the scenes w^liich 
Boone witnessed. He and his party, after a march 
through the woods where every mile was won by sa- 
gacious movement, arrived in safety, and proceeded 
to the work of preparing salt for the garrison. They 
worked never out of the grasp of their rifles. There 
was never an hour of complete security, for the Indian 
would hear that the great leader of the settlers had 
left the cover of tlie fort, and w^as in the forest, l^oone 
went on actively, for he had to prepare tlie salt for 
all the diflerent garrisons. It was a task which had 
to be done rapidly, for the cessation of it — the turn- 
ing of the manufacturing into a figlit — was probable 
e^^h day. The Indians were soon to investigate wdiat 
the Long Knives were after, witli the big kettles, and 
the popular expression that "salt could not save 
them," might be realized entirely too soon. But 
these founders of a nation learned every day that dif- 
ficulty is the companion of success ; and they worked 
on. It was almost easier to fight Indians, than to 



ANECDOTE OF BOONE. 177 

bring salt over the mountains on pack-liorscs from 
the seaboard. 

Connected with the expedition to the Salt Springs, 
is an incident which should be noted, as it shows how 
often, in historical events, the ideal is placed for tlie 
real, and what is originated in fiction becomes re- 
ceived as authentic, because not investigated. Mr, 
Flint, in his clear, though imaginative, history, re- 
lates tliat when Boone was at the Salt Licks, the fol- 
lowing adventure occurred : 

" Boone, instead of taking a part in the diurnal and uniii- 
terrupted labor of evaporating the water, performed tl>:3 
more congenial duty of hunting, to keep the company in pro- 
visions while they labored. In this pursuit, he had one day 
wandered some distance from the bank of the river. Two 
Indians, armed with muskets — for they had now generally 
added these efficient weapons to their tomahawks — came 
upon him. His first thought was to retreat. But he dis- 
covered, from their nimbleness, that this was impossible. 
His second thought was resistance, and he slipped behind a 
tree, to await their coming within rifle-shot. He then ex- 
posed himself, so as to attract their aim. The foremost lev- 
eled his musket. Boone, M^ho could dodge the flash, at tho 
pulling of the trigger, dropped behind his tree unhurt. The 
next object was to cause the fire of the second musket to he 
thrown away in the same manner. He again exposed a part 
of his person. The eager hidian instantly fired, and Boone 
evaded the shot as before. Both the Indians, having thrown 
away their fire, were eagerly strivmg, but with trembling 
hands, to reload. Trepidation and too much haste retarded 
H* 12 



178 LrFK OF DAKIEL BOONE- 

their object. Boone drew his rifle, and one of them fell dead. 
The two antagonists, now on equal grounds, the one unsheath- 
ing his knife, and the other poising his tomahawk, rushed 
toward the dead body of the fallen Indian ; Boone, placing 
his loot on the dead body, dexterously received the well- 
aimed tonianawk of his powerful enemy on the barrel of his 
rifle, thus preventing his skull from being cloven by it. In 
the Vorj^ -i'j.'Vijd?. of firing, the Indian had exposed his body 
to the knife of Boone, who plunged it in his body to the 
hilt." 

ITow this has been received as true, and by the cur- 
rent public judgment was deemed very appropriate 
and probable, because Boone was considered as a sort 
of wild adventurer and forest hero, on a large scale. 
The government of the United States lias given the 
story to sculpture ; having at great cost caused it to 
be commemorated in stone, in a group, placed over 
the northern door of the rotunda of the Capitol at 
Washington. The incident, as a symbol of what 
might have occurred, is appropriate, but as giving to 
all ages a portraiture of what did take place, is value- 
less, because no sucli incident took place. Boone 
was much more likely to be in the most arduous of 
the labor. The man who is really brave, has gen- 
erally seen so much of the danger that needless ex- 
posures are avoided. Those who make our statues 
and pictures, too frequently look to the coloring and 
grouping, rather than to the preservation of the actual 
fact. Tlius, in the famous picture of the Landing of 



NEW EXPEDITION AGAINST BOONESBOEOUGH. 179 

the Pilgrims, the Indian, Samoset, is made prominent 
as extending his hand to the disembarking wanderer ; 
while, in truth, it was not till long afterward that he 
came among the Pilgrims, and astonished them by 
uttering, in their own language, his memorable salu- 
tation of '^ Welcome Englishmen." 

The salt-makers pursued their vocation for nearly a 
month, and had, though a watchful, a peaceful labor, 
but the rest was a temporary one. The news of their 
occupation of the Licks,- soon reached the Indian. It 
aroused the enemy to the fact that it might be prac- 
ticable, in the absence of Boone, to make a new at- 
tack on the fort, and an expedition was formed, con- 
sisting of one hundred and two Indians and two 
Frenchmen. This was destined for Boonesborough. 
Boone emphatically says '' that place being particu- 
larly the object of the enemy." Another historian 
says it was *' a particular mark for Indian revenge." 

Of the thirty men whom Boone had brought out, 
three had returned to the garrison with the salt, and 
were bearing home news of the good condition of the 
party — tidings ^ whose sad reverse was so soon to 
follow. 

On the seventh of February, Boone was out hunt- 
ing. The old sport he followed, not for amusement, 
but to provide food for the party. It was a disastrous 
hunt for the Pione^^."**, Jle had wandered some dis- 
tance from his men — the exemption from any at- 



ISO LIFE OF DAKIEL BOONE. 

tack for nearly a montli having emboldened liim — 
and while engaged in the chase, he was suddenly sur- 
prised by this expedition of the Indians and French- 
men. Boone, on seeing the danger, attempted to es- 
cape by flight, but the young men were too fleet for 
him — though he was yet in the prime of life — and 
he was captured. His sagacity seems not to have 
been at fault in any emergency. Instead of obstinate 
and fruitless resistance, which would have excited the 
anger of the Indians, he yielcfed in the manner most 
gratifying to them. He was again their prisoner. It 
will be recollected that he was, in all probability, 
known to them as the leader of the white men, and 
yet his influence over the Indian, acquired by consum- 
mate sagacity, soon began to develope itself. lie 
eays the Indians, in his capitulation, promised him 
generous usage. 

What was become of the party he had left at the' 
Blue Licks, now occupied Boone's mind most j)ain- 
fully. His course of conduct was of the most diffi- 
cult. The Indians were determined to seize them, 
and Boone prepared for what he believed the wisest 
course. He ingratiated himself immediately with the 
Indians, for which he always seems to have possessed a 
rare faculty. He was well known to them, and it was 
in their knowledge that he liad never sanctioned 
any cruel or unusual procedure towards them. The 
fact that he soon won their confidence, illustrates this- 



SURRENDER OF BOONE S PARXY. 181 

He would gladly have warned tlie party of the dan- 
ger, so that they could have fled to tlie fort, but this 
was impossible, and he prepared for the bold move- 
ment of a surrender, trusting to his power over the 
Indian, to secure his men. He approached them ; 
and it shows the mastery that Boone had over his fol- 
lowers, that the signs which he made to them to yield 
themselves, were immediately obeyed. They might 
have sold their lives dearly, and before capture have 
made the Licks memorable for a bloody conflict ; but 
Boone judged wiser. He, in all probability, told the 
Indians that if his men had assurance of kind treat- 
ment, the capture would be easy ; but that, if no such 
assurance was given, the battle would be bloody. 
The party surrendered ; and Boone records tliat the 
Indians kept their word. ]N"either death nor torture 
awaited them. 

For the surrender of his party, Boone, a short time 
afterward, when released, underwent a trial by court- 
martial. The charges were preferred by Col. Calla- 
way, an intimate friend of Boone, and Col. Benja- 
min Logan. Boone defended himself, and so efifect- 
ually vindicated his conduct, and demonstrated the 
sagacity of his course, that, not only was he honorably 
acquitted, but, at its close, an immmediate promotion 
to a majority followed. 

The expedition against Boonesborough seems im- 
mediately to have been relinquished — indicating at 



182 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

once tlie good effects of the policy pursued by Boona 
Had the salt party fought and been conquered, as was 
too probable, as the numerical advantage of the In- 
dians was very great, and the whites had not the ad- 
vantages of fortifications, the Indians, flushed with 
their triumph, would have gone on to the fort, which 
would have been surprised, and, as its leader was a 
prisoner and its garrison diminished, the settlement, 
in the winter, would have been captured, and the 
most fearful results followed. As it was, the whole 
plan of the campaign was changed, and with the 
great Pioneer and twenty-seven of his braves as pris- 
oners, the Indian expedition returned in triumph. 
They then proceeded with their spoil to the chief 
Indian town on the Little Miami, to old Chillicothe. 
The march was in the severe weather of Februarj^, 
which Boone and his companions in captivity were 
probably better able to endure than the Indians. 
Boone says, the journey was uncomfortable — a very 
mild word for a captivity under such circumstances. 
He rather quaintly says that they received as good 
treatment as prisoners could expect from savages. 
This was on the eighteenth day of February. Boone 
must have made good use of his time and opportuni- 
ties, for on the tenth of March, he had so won on 
them that they selected ten of his men, and sent them, 
with himself, under a guard, to Detroit. It was an- 
other long and painful march through the wilderness, 



BOONE TAKEN TO DETROIT. 183 

occupying twenty days. Of the route and circum- 
stances, Boone has left no record ; but it is fjuite ev- 
ident that he was all the while laboring to fix himself 
in their confidence so firmly, that it would enable 
him to" command his time and opportunity. He had 
the ultimate end in view, at all hours, and made his 
plans complete, like a master mind, as he was. 

It has been said that it entered into the calculations 
of Boone that it was the policy of Hamilton, the En- 
glish official who was in command of Detroit, that 
for scalps he gave a reward, and for prisoners ; and 
that he deemed it wisest to have the Indians encour- 
aged in bringing in prisoners rather than scalps. What 
a change has been wrought in the opinions of man- 
kind in the last half century ! It could not now be a 
regulation of war, that the savage should be encour- 
aged to mutilate his victim, without drawing on the 
nation who could thus offend the moral sense of man- 
kind, the most severe reprobation. It is not, howev- 
er, in the truth of history wisest for us to declaim 
against the policy of the English in the Eevolution, in 
the employment of the savage, as if they were the 
only ones who had erred. Notwithstanding the in- 
dignant language used by Jefferson in the Declara- 
tion, in which the incitement of the savage to deeds 
of blood, is recited as one of the chief acts of tyranny 
of George HI. — it is to be feared that the assistance 
of the Indian was welcomed by oui own people, 



184: LIFE OF DANIEL B00N:E. 

without inquiring too closely into the warfare he prac 
ticed. Yet it is to be hoped that our leading men did 
not cultivate their ferocity or imitate it. One of the 
Johnsons, who resided on the Mohawk, and whose in- 
fluence over the tribes was so very great as to make 
his will their law, made repeated efforts to take John 
Tayler, of. Albany, prisoner, as Gov. Taylor was one 
of the chief actors in the Revolution. After the 
Revolution, and when a number of years had elapsed, 
at a sale of some books in Albany, Gov. Tayler dis- 
covered the family Bible of the Johnsons. He bought 
it, and sent it to the exiled chieftain, who was living 
in Canada ; saying that it was in return for the treat- 
ment he had received from him during the war. The 
extraordinary answer returned by Johnson was, that 
if he had caught him in the Revolution, he would 
have given him to tJw Indians. 

Notwithstanding Gov. Hamilton's reputation as 
dispensing rewards for scalps, it is due to him to note, 
that Boone records that on his arrival he was treated 
by tlie governor with great humanity. 

He alludes to his journey with the Indians, and 
says they treated him well, or, as he says, entertained 
him ; indeed, as Filson writes it, (though this seems 
language stronger than Boone would naturally have 
used,) " their affection for him was so great." The 
exaggerated sentence, however, conveys the truth that 
Boone had so well excercised his powers of kindnesi 



MOTIVES OF THE INDIANS. 180 

and Ills sagacity with the Indians, that, although he 
had been the commander of a strong fortress — one 
whicl^. annoyed and angered them more than any 
other — he. had made them generous and friendly to- 
ward him. 

The motive that induced the Indians to risk the 
jonrney to Detroit with Boone, was two-fold. It was 
to inspire the English with a sense of the great ser- 
vice which they had rendered by securing such a 
captive, and to show Boone the friendly relations ex- 
isting between them and the royal troops. It was a 
refinement of cruelty, though not intended as such, 
to take a white man to a polished and agreeable place 
like Detroit, and not to allow him to remain. It could 
not well have been that they claimed a reward for 
Boone, as for the other prisoners, because that would 
have given to the English commandant full authority 
over them. It was rather an exhibition of the great 
captive, in triumph, since all barbarians are alike, 
whether led by a Shawanese chieftain, or by Titus at 
Rome. 

Boone still wore the appearance of satisfaction with 
his position. It was necessary to secure such confi- 
dence as should, at the proper time, leave him un- 
guarded, and he looked around Detroit with his In- 
dian guard, as if it had not inducement to alienate 
him from them. 

His residence at Detroit was about a month. It 



18G LWE OF DANIEL ROOXE. 

was a peculiar position for a prisoner. He knew tliat 
at any hour he might be summoned to resume his 
toilsome and painful march as a captive. He was in 
constant communication with men like himself — of 
similar birth and habit — and yet he was an append- 
age to a tribe of wandering savages. The English 
ocentlemen at Detroit, estimated the worth of the no- 
ble-hearted Pioneer, and evidencing the kind human 
nature that civilization cultures, they pressed upon 
him the offer of money, and whatever else his neces- 
sities required. Boone plaintively says, they were 
" sensible of his adverse' fortune, and touched with 
human sympathy." He acted towards his generous 
friends with a dignity which we cannot contemplate 
without having the old man's memory lie nearer our 
hearts. He declined their ofier, because he looked 
forward through the probabilities of his life, and saw 
no prospect of his being able to repay. He gave them 
" many thanks for their kindness — their unmerited 
generosity." 

In Detroit, the arrival of this celebrated Pioneer 
must have been an event of extraordinary interest. 
Caged by the savage, he showed no fear ; but with all 
the horror of Indian captivity before him, was yet 
the simple-hearted pioneer. The intelligent English 
knew, through the notice taken of him by Lord Dun 
more, by Henderson, and by the people generally, hi? 
consequence and worth. They had received no sucr 



187 

v:4'.itor, and it was unquestionably a serious grief to 
tliem, that the Indian insisted upon retaining him. 
Yet tliey did not dare to thwart the Indian, because 
the war against the Colonies needed, they thought, 
such terrible alliance. 

That the interest manifested in Boone by Com- 
mandant Hamilton was not feigned, was shown by 
his oft'er to the Indians of the sum of one hundred 
pounds sterling — a very large ransom, in the value 
of money in those days. That such an offer was re- 
fused, indicates the great value which the Indians at- 
tached to the possession of Boone ; but it also proves 
another thing, that the government of Britain, in the 
administration of its power by the authorities in the 
Colonies, regarded the alliance of the Indian as so 
valuable as to induce every effort to please them. 
Else, certainly such a prisoner as was Boone, would 
have been taken into the guardianship of the military 
power. But there was much about Boone for the In- 
dian to admire.' This, all his intercourse with them 
seems to prove. The Indians occasionally found a 
white man in whom they had every confidence, and 
for whom they manifested as much of friendship, if 
not of affection, as was in their natures. It was so, 
two hundred years before, in the instance of Corlear, 
the Hollander, who obtained such possession of the 
Indian heart as to be all-powerful with them, and so 
that their synonym for honor and beauty, was hia 



188 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

name. Boone was quiet and silent. This pleased the 
Indian. It was so different from the noisy brawling 
of the mere hunter, that in his taciturnity the Pioneer 
seemed to assimilate the character of tlie man of the 
woods. He was brave. His conduct had proved 
this ; but he won his bravery as a soldier and not as 
a tyrant. He seemed to be willing to deal with the 
Indians as having manhood and humanity about them, 
instead of waging a war of extirpation, as against 
wild beasts. The Indians could not imagine how Boone 
could be a perpetual foe to them. 

They probably believed that time w^ould reconcile 
him to his captivity, and that if they could identify 
him with them, he would be of invaluable service to 
them. Hence, it was dangerous to let him remain too 
long at Detroit, and having satisfied their vanity by 
the exhibition of their powerful prisoner, they deter- 
mined to return to the wilderness. The men who 
had been taken prisoners with Boone at the Salt Licks, 
were left as prisoners with the British — where they 
received the fortune of war, as dispensed by those 
who respected the captured soldier — a fate infinitely 
preferable to that which would have been theirs, if 
Boone had not, by his prudent course, rescued them 
from a bloody death or a cruel captivity. 

Boone left Detroit on the tenth of April. The com- 
mandant doubtless lamented the sad circumstances 
which prevented him from assuming full power over 



RETUKN TO THE WILDERNESS. 18 

him ; for when the ransom was offered, it was with 
the intention to allow Boone to return to his home, a 
prisoner on parole. Probably the safety of Boone 
with his captors was considered very problematical, 
as the British officers knew that any sudden and se- 
vere disaster occurring to the savages, might induce 
them to murder, in revenge, whatever white man was 
in their power. The march of the Indians was again 
towards old Chillicothe, and it was a long and a fa- 
tiguing one ; but during its progress, Boone looked 
around and made an intelligent observation of the 
general appearance of the country. That region 
whose every acre is now the scene of a prosperous 
activity, by whose resources the nation is cheered and 
enriched, lay there in all its forest wealth ; but the 
judgment of the Pioneer determined it, as he says, to 
be " an exceeding fertile country, remarkable for fine 
springs and streams of water." Boone's own record 
of his conduct in captivity is remarkable : 

" At Chillicothe I spent my time as comfortably as I 
could expect ; was adopted, according to their custom, into 
a family, where I became a son, and had a great share in the 
affection of my new parents, brothers, sisters and friends. I 
was exceedingly familiar and friendly with them, always ap- 
pearing as cheerful and satisfied as possible^ and they put 
great confidence in me. I often went a hunting with them, 
and frequently gained their applause for my activity at our 
shooting matches. I was careful not to exceed many of 
them in shooting *, for no people are more envious than they 



190 LITE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

in this sport. I could observe in their countenances and ges- 
tures, the greatest expressions of joy when they exceeded 
me ; and, when the reverse happened, of envy. The Shawar 
nese king took great notice of me, and treated me with pro- 
found respect, and entire friendship, often entrusting me to 
hunt at my liberty. I frequently returned with the spoils of 
the woods, and as often presented some of what I had taken 
to him, expressive of duty to my sovereign. My food and 
lodging were in common with them ; not so good, indeed, 
as I could desire, but necessity made everything acceptable." 

Boone had so completely concealed liis purposes, 
and so ingratiated himself with liis captors, that they 
thought that they had secured him. In order to iden- 
tify him as closely as possible with them, and attach 
him to them by a tie which they thought could not 
be broken, they adopted him into their tribe. Mr. 
Peck, whose narrative, from having been collected in 
some of its leading incidents from Boone himself, is 
the standard authority, next to the account prepared 
by Filson, from Boone's information, gives some par- 
ticulars which are curious and interesting. Black- 
iish, a distinguished Shawanese chief, had lost a son, 
who was a warrior. These were days when vacan- 
cies in an Indian family were quite likely to occur, 
if the rifles of the settlers could get a chance to make 
themselves felt. Blackfish selected Boone as the indi- 
vidual who should supply the loss to him, and it was 
proposed to him that he should be adopted by all the 
due fm*ms into the tribe. True to his sagacious pol- 



ADOPTED INTO THE TKIBE. 191 

icj, Boone consented, for lie knew well that the dis- 
tinction between the wise and the foolish, is often that 
the former allows a plan to be fnllj matured before he 
acts on it, while the latter is hastj, and before the 
power is completely within grasp, acts upon it. 
Boone had now been, the Indians thought, somewhat 
thoroughly tested. He had been in the forest and in 
the city, and in both had seemed to be contented. 
They knew that in the city especially, he had often 
good opportunity to get away ; for, in all probability, 
the British would have looked leniently on his escape, 
as they would, and rightly, have known that his feel- 
ings towards them would have been softened by their 
kindness. They saw in him a man distinguished in 
all that they thought adorned manhood, and if they 
could win such a one to their tribe, it was most 
desirable. 

Mr. Peck says, " The forms of the ceremony of 
adoption were often severe and ludicrous. The hair 
of the head is plucked out by a tedious and painful 
operation, leaving a tuft some three or four inches in 
diameter, on the crown for the scalp-lock, which is 
cut and dressed up with ribbons and feathers." 

After all this, he is thoroughly washed, and '' the 
white blood " rubbed out. He is then taken to the 
Council House, where a speech is made him, in which 
he is assured of all the honors intended and services 
expected. After this, follows a luminous painting of 



192 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

head and face, and tlie ceremony conclados with a 
feast and the pipe. 

To all this Boone submitted. They might make 
the Pioneer, darkened by the exposure of so many 
huntings and campaigns, to resemble an Indian, but 
they could not put in his heart purposes of revenge 
or love of cruelty. In all of it he saw but one thing, 
and that was, that it facilitated his great design of 
reaching home at some period. 

Boone relates his sagacious and courtier-like man- 
ner of leaving the honors of the shooting-match to be 
won by the Indian. He soon saw that he was win- 
nins: their confidence, but he could not but notice 
that they did not entirely trust him. He was allowed 
to hunt ; but they counted his balls, and he was 
obliged to show what game he had shot, and thus 
prove that he had not concealed any of the ammuni- 
tion to be used in an escape. But Boone had an art 
beyond them, for he divided the balls into halves and 
used light charges of powder. The Indian, with all 
his watchfulness, never supected this ; and Boone had 
too much self-control to show the least exultation in 
outwitting them. 

He never seems to have forgotten the great " mis- 
sion " which he always believed was his — the subju 
gation and development of the beautiful and fertile 
west, to the settler. Even as a wandering captive, 
his heart was not so heavy but that he could observe 



EMPLOYED IN SALT-MAKING. 103 

the beauty of the soil, and while he was hunting 
around Ghillicothe, his investigation and research were 
continued. He hunted for them, and he says he 
" found the land, for a great extent about this river, 
jto exceed the soil of Kentucky, if possible, and re- 
markably well watered." He could scarcely imagine 
the possibility that any land could exceed his beloved 
Kentucky, to which he had called the attention of 
the world, and towards which, while he w^as a pris- 
oner, the settler, anxious to realize the truth of all 
that Boone had said, was pressing with all his vigor, 
daring every hour the same captivity in which the 
Pioneer himself was held. 

The Indians recollected in what pursuit they had 
found Boone, and had a very practical idea of making 
him useful to them. So they took him to the Salt. 
Springs on the Scioto, as they, like their white breth- 
ren, desired this indispensable article. In all the de- 
partments of duty they found their prisoner useful, 
and he turned to every service which they required 
of him with a readiness, the sincerity of which they 
could not question. Salt-making was not exactly in 
the Indian's line. It belonged too much to work, and 
the Indian, in his forest, was too lordly to submit to 
any physical exertion not prompted by his pleasure. 
For ten days he was busy, and his Indian guard un- 
doubtedly admired the quiet industry with which 
their adopted son ministered to their comfort. His 
I 13 



lU 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



narrative sliows, also, tliis extraordinary fact, tLat 
Bucli was his superiority in hunting, that tliese wikl 
men, brought up to know no other occupation, em« 
ployed him to hunt for them. 








ATTACK ON FOKT BOONESBOKOUGM. 



CHAPTEK XI. 

AFFAIRS AT BOONESBOROUGH BOONe's WIFE RETURNS TO NORTH CAROLINA 

BOONE RETURNS FROM THE SALTLICKS TO CHILLICOTHE HE FINDS THE 

INDIANS PREPARING AN EXPEDITION AGAINST BOONESBOROUGH BOONS 

MAKES HIS ESCAPE, AND ARRIVES AT THE FOUT HE HASTILY REPAIRS THE 

FORT BOONe's EXPEDITION TO PAINT CREEK DEFEAT OF THE INDIANS 

RETURN OF THE PARTY ARRIVAL OF A LARGE BODY OF INDIANS, LED 

BY DUQUESNE THE GARRISON SUMMONED TO SURRENDER. 

Boone had now been absent from the fort four 
months and three days. It was a long and weary time. 
In all of it, he had no intercourse with those who were 
most dear to him, and of friends or family he could 
hear nothing. Of the general progress of events he 
had learned at Detroit, but obtained his information 
there from sources the most anxious to impress upon 
a leading mind like his, that to the feeble Colonies, 
seaboard and frontier, all was gloomy and disastrous, 
and that the British had conquered, and would soon 
completely destroy the rebellion. All the news the 
Indians brought him was of their own success. At 
the fort, the capture of Boone and his party was 
known, but the circumstances could not have been, 
else a different course of conduct would have been 
maintained. They had learned, by the report brought 



190 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

by prisoners effecting an escape, that he had been at 
Detroit. Indeed, the English authorities would natu 
rally have given all currency to the fact that they 
had, by their allies, captured the great leader of the 
settlers.' Such a deed would convey a more forcible 
idea of the prowess of the Indian, and would be effect- 
ual in disheartening the Americans. But it seems 
that the garrison and Boone's friends took the obvious 
view of the subject, that once in the British power, 
the Indian w^ould relinquish their distinguished pris- 
oner to the royal troops. That he was brought to 
Detroit only to be shown as a part of a triumphal dis- 
,play, they did not imagine ; and as his subsequent 
fate was unknown, they imagined that he had been 
sent far off into the interior, into Canada. The con- 
sequences of the absence of their leader soon begun 
to develop themselves in the want of attention to the 
defences of the fort. Had they known the real state 
of Boone's affairs, it is probable a different course 
would have been adopted. 

It was not known to them that the anxiety of the 
Indians to possess themselves of Boonesborough had 
been so great that the capture of Boone resulted from 
a winter expedition — a thing very unusual — direct- 
ed to the subjugation, if possible, of the fort. It is 
probable that it was in the belief that the Indians 
would not move during the winter, that induced the 
Bait-making party to venture away from the garrison 



THE FORT AT EOONESBOROITGn. 197 

Boone had been so much the leader of the forces at 
Boonesborough, and had so concentrated in himself 
the preparations constantly in readiness against sur- 
prise, that when he was away there was none to take 
his place. " The fort," says Flint, " was a perfect 
parallelogram, including from a lialf to a wliole acre. 
A trench was then dug four or five feet deep, and 
large and contiguous pickets planted in the trench, so 
as to form a compact wall, from ten to twelve feet 
above the soil. The pickets were of hard and dura- 
ble timber, about a foot in diameter. The soil about 
them was rammed hard. At the angles were small 
projecting squares, of still stronger material, and 
planting, technically called flankers^ with oblique 
port-holes, so that the sentinel could rake the external 
front of the station without being exposed to shot 
from without. Two immense folding gates were the 
means of communication from without." 

The garrison evidently believed that the danger to 
Boonesborough was not immediate.' The gallant con- 
duct of Gen. Clarke — the more diffused settlements 
— the increased emigration — all induced a disorgan- 
ization ; and the probabilities are that if the Indian 
had possessed the sagacity then to attack the fort, 
while they held its leader as prisoner, it would have 
been compelled to yield, and what Boone had so often 
defended, would have been a subject of the savages' 
triumph. 



198 LIFE OF DANIEL EOOJsE. 

The wife of Boone had seen too much of the frontiei 
life, and, bj the most painful experience, known its 
dangers, not to realize that the residence at Boones- 
borough was a precarious one, when her husband was 
away. She had her family around her. While 
Boone was there, though it was a strange and wild life 
for the nurture of children, when the midnight might 
at every recurrence be the hour for a bloody death ; yet, 
for the love of the husband and the father, it might 
be borne. She had estimated all these dangers when 
she left Korth Carolina. Boone's absence had now 
continued so long as to render it much more than 
doubtful whether he would ever again appear. The 
life of the settler was suspended upon a thread, and 
it seemed most probable that, in Boone's case, it was 
severed. Boone himself relates that his wife des- 
paired of ever seeing him again. She knew that 
Boone had once before been a prisoner, and had es- 
caped, and she had heard from him his statement that 
it was, in Indian judgment, a grievous crime ; that it 
seemed to them almost unforgiveable that, when they 
had spared the life of a captive, he should leave them, 
especially as his stay with them enabled him to com- 
municate such information of what their real condi- 
tion was ; and although her anxieties were relieved 
by the knowledge that he had been taken to Detroit, 
her fears and sorrow returned when she found that 
all trace of him ceased there. Her husband, in his 



MRS. BOONP: RETUKNS to north CAROLINA. 199 

narrative, says, that she expected that the Indiana 
nad killed Jiim. She had seen her bright and cher- 
ished son shot down by the sav^ages, though he had 
done them no harm. Plow conld she anticipate any 
other fate for the bold leader who had so often made 
the Indian feel his prowess. 

But there was something more than the sorrow for 
her husband's probable loss. Boone relates that she 
was " oppressed with the distresses of the country," 
as well as " bereaved of me, her only happiness." In 
all these circumstances of peril and sorrow, the earn- 
est energy of the woman did not forsake lier. She 
determined to leave the fort, and return to her father's 
house, in North Carolina, and she acted out her de- 
termination. With her family and her effects, she 
left the protection of the garrison, and, on horseback, 
through what Boone characterizes as a multitude of 
dangers, she found the long journey before her. This 
was an enterprise worthy of the wife of the great Pi- 
oneer. It was a journey from which the greater part 
of mankind would have drawn back. It is gratifying 
to be able to record that she safely reached her old 
home. The good Providence that had preserved her 
heroic husband's life amidst so many dangers, did not 
desert her. It is true that she only removed from one 
Bcene of war to another, but in the old States, the 
usages of civilization prevailed, and she was where, 



200 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

since she believed her husband was lost to her, tlio 
kindness of the paternal mansion was doubly prized. 

Mrs. Boone must have believed that a destiny .of 
sorrow was associated for her with the settlement of 
the West, — her son killed, her husband gone, and, as 
she thought, with similar fate — her-home at the fort 
always held by the most precarious, tenure — it is in 
the experiences of such women that we realize at what 
cost of all that the heart values, the foundations of 
these States were laid. She was only reenacting the 
same scenes of suffering which, under differing pha- 
ses, the pioneers of Albany, and Jamestown, and 
Plymouth, had experienced. 

Boone having been successful and satisfactory as a 
salt manufacturer was taken back to Chilli cothe. It is 
quite probable that he was sent off to give the better 
opportunity for the preparation which he found in ac- 
tivity when he returned. He says he was *' alarmed to 
see four hundred and fifty Indians, of their choicest 
warrioi^, j)ainted and armed in a fearful manner, 
ready to march against Boonesborough." "This seems 
to have been unexpected by Boone, and to have has- 
tened the consummation of his plans. It is quite 
probable that the Indian spies had heard that, during 
the captivity of their leader, the garrison at Boonesbf*- 
rough had allowed the fort to be out of repair. A 
neglect of care for the fortification, would be accom- 
panied by less watchfulness and caution, and the war;^ 



A NEW EXPEDITION AGAINST THE FOUT. 201 

ludian who ventured near the scene, could leadily 
observe that there were broken places — weakened 
timbers — and the easy avenue for a surprise. Boone 
was too sagacious to evince that he took any interest 
in the procedure, and especially did he conceal his 
own accurate knowledge of the Shawanese dialect, so 
that the Indians talked freely and fully all around him, 
and he obtained a complete knowledge of all their 
plans. It was a bitter trial. He felt that he was in 
the power of the Indians, and he had every reason to 
dread that the expedition would be successful ; and 
in that fort were his wife and his children ! Pie heard 
the Indians talk about the fort, and if they were 
aware of its exposure and neglect, they would be 
likely to mention it. All this made a fearful conflict 
in his mind, for it became, of all things, necessary 
Jiat his countenance should be as calm, and his ap 
pearance as contented, as if he was in reality that 
which the Indians hoped they had made him — the 
son of old Blackfish. 

He had to do more. Instead of being merely a 
passive spectator, he thought it wise to applaud their 
war-dances, and smile at the preparations which were 
making to murder tliose dearest to him. He determined 
to risk all in an escape, but, unlike lesser minds, he 
made no false step. He was, to all appearance, the 
brave, changed into an Indian. The least unwary 
movement, at this juncture, would have betrayed 



202 LIFE or DANIEL BOONE. 

liirn, and he summoned all his faculties for the flight. 
So completely had he appeared to be as contented as 
usual, without any difference of conduct from that 
manifested before he went to the Salt Licks, that no 
opposition was manifested to his taking his usual hunt 
on the sixteenth of June. He arose very early. The 
task before him was to escape, through a wilderness, 
from four hundred and fifty infuriated Indians ; for 
such they certainly would be, when they ascertained 
how completely they had been deceived. These In- 
dians included the sagacious warrior — the young and 
hardy brave — the men capable of all that men 
could endure, in securing a quick pasage through 
the woods. He knew thoroughly his risk, and real- 
ized his own value. He saw the probabilities, almost 
the certainty, that a horrible death would signalize 
his recapture. So that morning was an intense hour. 
He took his gun, and secreted some venison, so as not 
to be entirely without food, and left the fierce force 
behind him. If a situation of keener interest can be 
found in the annals of human experience, it is most 
rare. Once fairly off, he felt that with anything like 
a reasonable time gained, his knowledge of woodcraft 
was equal or superior to that of the Indian ; for his 
close observation of him had convinced him of the 
supremacy of the white man. His age was now 
forty-three, and he knew his own capacities of endu- 
rance. The race was for life, and he was in for it. 



BOONE S ESCAPE. 9()3 

lie very summarily, in his dictated narrative to 
Filson, disposes of his journey. He says he departed 
in the iijost secret manner, on the sixteenth, before 
sunrise, and arrived at Boonesborough on the twen- 
tieth, during which he had but one meal. 

Peck, deriving his information from Boone and oth- 
er reliable sources, states particulars which are of 
great interest. 

The distance to Boonesborough exceeded one hundred 
and sixty miles, which he traveled in less than five days, eat- 
ing but one regular meal on the road, which was a turkey 
he shot after crossing the Ohio River. Until he left that 
river behind him, his anxiety was great. He knew the In- 
dians would follow him, and it required all his skill and tact, 
as a backwoodsman, to throw them off the trail. His route 
lay through forests, swamps, and across numerous rivers. 
Every sound in the forest struck his ear as the signal of ap- 
proaching Indians. He was not an expert swimmer, and he 
anticipated serious difficulty in crossing the Ohio, which, at 
that time, from continued rains, was swollen, and was run- 
ning with a strong current. On reaching its banks, he had 
the good fortune to find an old canoe, which had floated into 
the bushes. A hole was in one end, but this he contrived 
to stop, and it bore him safely to the Kentucky side. His 
appearance before the garrison at Boonesborough, was lilce 
one risen from the dead." 

Let no one doubt the special interposition of Prov- 
idence. That old canoe that floated on the Ohio, ap- 
parently of all things most useless, had in it a trust, 



^04: LIT^ OF DANIEL BOOKE, 

in wliicli the happiness of a great State was deeply 
involved. 

That journey Boone could never forget.. It was 
distinct from an ordinary escape. It was of a nature 
to arouse every Indian passion, for he had, as they 
thought, forfeited the adoption they had made of him. 
He was possessed of their secrets, and had received, 
hy his residence among them, a greatly augmented 
power to injure them. 

There was " racing and chasing " in old Chillicothe 
camp, when the Shawanese Blackfish discovered that 
his adopted son had fled. To rush on all sides to dis- 
cover his trail, was their impulse, and the fleetest 
foot and the keenest hunter was sent after him. They 
immediately suspected his route, as appears by their 
subsequent conduct, and in all the forest towards 
Boonesborough the enraged Indian was found. It is 
quite probable that, with those who had known him 
best, there was as much of grief as of anger, because" 
he would not have received from them such treament 
and such confidence, if he had not made himself loved 
and respected. As he had been suffered to hunt, 
their suspicions of his escape would not have been 
aroused till the day had advanced several hours. On 
this Boone had formed his plan. He knew how 
much progress he could make by the daylight, and 
that an attempt to get off in the night might have 
been fatally discovered. 



HE KEPAIRS THE FORT. 205 

Postponing his departure till about tlie usual liour 
for his hunting, made the action anr ordinary one, as 
it would have been suj^posed that had he intended to 
escape, the night would have been chosen. To those 
few hours Boone, by the mercy of Heaven, owed his 
escape. They enabled him to put such a distance be- 
tween him and his enemy, tliat he could, by the arts 
of woodcraft, in which the country held no superior 
to him, baffle their search and throw them off the 
trail. It was one of the most memorable passages of 
his life, and if ever man earned the title of brave, 
he did. 

He came upon the garrison as if death had released 
him from its bonds. The men at Boonesborough be- 
lieved in his capture and in their own safety. He 
had immediately much to do. From the loss of his 
wife and children, w^hile the grief of not finding them 
there to welcome him was natural, he gathered at 
once the great consolation that they were safe, and 
would not be exposed to the fearful ordeal through 
which he foresaw his fort was to pass. 

There was enough to do. Boone proceeded to re- 
pair the flanks, strengthen the gates and posterns, and 
to form double bastions. The same energy which had 
enabled him to come through a wilderness, one hun- 
dred and sixty miles, in less than five days, w^ith one 
meal — scarcely sleeping, and perpetually in alarm — 
was manifested hei-e; and in ten days the fort at 



WQ$ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

Boonesborough was in a state of defence, ready for 
the siege wliicli its commander knew it was destined 
to sustain. It had survived many ordeals. The 
woods around it had been often alive with the savage, 
but its worst blow was to fall, and Boone knew that 
the enemy calculated confidently on its conquest. 
He had the most positive personal reasons for a des- 
perate defence. 

Boone had heard from the Indian force. Fortu- 
nately, one of those who had been held prisoner with 
him, had also escaped, as, in all probability, the same 
watchfulness was not bestowed on the others as over 
Boone. The great consequence which Boone pos- 
sessed in their estimation, was at once shown. His 
flight, when the pursuers returned, weary and disap- 
pointed, from their vain effort to recapture him, 
changed the music of the war dance. The Grand 
Council of the Nation was held. It was debated 
whether the expedition should go forward — for the 
Indian seems to have had complete confidence in 
Boone's having successfully returned. Indeed, their 
spies soon related to them the changes which his in- 
dustry and activity had brought about. The fort that 
they expected to- find defenceless, was now likely to 
give them abundant trouble. Long and deep was 
the deliberation. The wise men checked the impa- 
tience of the young men, and counseled the utmost 
accuracy of movement. The Indian, in the escape 



EXPEDITION TO PAINT CEEEK. 207 

of Boone, saw that the white man could foil them at 
their own weapons, for he had shown a dissimulation 
and a sagacity entirely beyond all that they could 
furnish to their cause. The Pioneer makes, in his 
narrative, the reflection that the Indians " evidently 
saw the approaching hour when the Long Knives 
would dispossess them of their desirable habitations, 
and, concerned anxiously for futurity, determined ut- 
terly to extirpate the whites out of Kentucky." This 
was a resolution kindred to that which King Philip 
made in reference to the settlements in New Enerland. 
The Indian could not understand, till forced to do so, 
that his cunning and cruelty had no other effect than 
to make surer and speedier his ultimate destruction. 
Boone seems to have been renewed in vigor after 
he had completed the fortifications at Boonesborough, 
for he no longer contented himself with acting on the 
defensive. It was expedient to strike a blow which 
should show the savages that if their expedition pro- 
ceeded, it would have enough to do. Immediately 
on the ending of his work at the garrison, he took a 
force of nineteen men, and issued forth for a surprise 
against a small town, called Paint Creek, up the Sci- 
oto. When they were within four miles of their des- 
tination, they discovered a party of Indians, already 
on their way to attack Boonesborough. They were 
to join the great body who came on from Chillicothe. 
These invaders found their energies put in requisition 



30S LITE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 

somewhat ahead of the time they contemplated. A 
fight ensued — Boone calls it " a smart fight " — but 
Boone and his nineteen men, though the scene of the 
battle was not within fort or fortrress, proved too 
many for the thirty savages. It was not a very bloody 
battle on either side, as but one man was killed, and 
two wounded, and all this was on the part of the In- 
dians. Boone's j)arty escaped unhurt. The Indians 
now fled, leaving behind them all their baggage, and 
three horses. The Paint Creek town was in solitude, 
the Indians having all deserted it. Boone realized 
that it was best to go back to the fort, as the expedi- 
tion would soon be there, and then every one was 
needed for an obstinate defence. 

After an absence of seven days, they were again 
safely in the fort, and the foray, which had extended 
one hundred and fifty miles, had its advantage. It 
showed the bravery of the garrison. It taught tho 
Indian to look out for the safety of his own home ; 
and the fact that Boone and his party had, after dis- 
covering in their march the main body, the adroitness 
and sagacity to get around them, and safely secure 
the protection of the fort, encouraged the heart of the 
garrison. Tliey believed they could conquer an ene- 
my that they could thus outmanoeuvre. 

Boonesborough had now to encounter the most for- 
midable force that had ever been arraigned against it. 
Lt had known what it was to be attacked by night and 



THE INDIANS ARRIVE AT THE FORT. 209 

dfty — by oj3en iignt and by stratagem ; but never 
had such an army presented itself for its destruction, 
as was now marching against it. 

Boone's own narrative states that the invading force 
arrived on the eighth of August, but Peck thinks it 
is proved by a letter written by Col Bowman, that it 
was not till the eighth of September ; and yet the 
letter of Bowman is certainly inaccurate in some of 
its statements, and may be, in its date. 

The invaders approached. It was the most formi- 
dable of all the expeditions of the Avar. The Indians 
were arrayed in all their war attire, for there seems 
to be a kindred policy in all barbarians. When the 
English were at war with the Chinese, the Oriental 
plan of campaigning was to make at the foe the most 
hideous grimaces — throw the^L' bodies into the most 
violent contortions, and give the loudest exercise to 
their gongs. So the Indian relied on his paint, his 
fierce face made up of vermillion, and whatever other 
gaudy hue could add to the beauty of his copper color, 
— nor less on the war whoop, which he knew was par- 
ticularly frightful to the unaccustomed settler, but of 
which the pioneer soon knew the whole force was 
spent in empty breath. 

Painted and caparisoned, the Indians drew up in 
front of the fort. They did not trust entirely to their 
own skill, but had placed themselves under the com- 
mand of Capt. Du Quesne a name of importance in 

14 



210 LIFE OF EANIEL BOONE. 

• 

the annals of the country , and whicli was tliat of the 
fort so memorable in the early annals of Washing- 
ton's militar}' career. The Indian commander was 
Blackfish, who had thus come with scalping-knife and 
tomahawk to look after his adopted son — evidently 
not with the most delicate or -tender of paternal feel- 
ing. Boone knew the anxiety of his Indian father to 
get hold of him, and estimated precisely what would 
be his family welcome ! 

The Indians were four hundred and forty-four in 
number, and there were twelve Canadians. Du 
Quesne, as possessing a knowledge of military tactics, 
was the leader, in fact, though Blackfish had com- 
mand, and was qualified to conduct the negotiations, 
as possessing the knowledge of both languages. 
Strange to say, the expedition, while it summoned the 
surrender in the name of His Britannic Majesty, 
appeared with the colors of France flying, as well as 
of England. As there existed at the time a treaty of 
alliance between France and the United States, this 
was a strange movement. It indicates that the afi'air 
was one which, although under the general campaign 
of the English, was a sort of partnership foray between 
the Indians and the Canadians. The latter had so re- 
cently been under the dominion of the French, and 
were so identified with them in language, manner and 
association, (as even to this day such a large popula- 
tion in the Eastern Province are,) that the flag of 



POLICY OF THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT. 211 

f'rance seemed tlieir own, quite as much as did that 
of St. George. The great work of Wolfe had bnl 
partially developed itself. 

The French Government was opposed to any expe-, 
dition "by the United States against Canada. Tlie 
French minister had instructions, before leaving 
PVance, to oppose any such plan, and the French de- 
sired that Canada and Nova Scotia should remain in 
the possession of England. So says Sparks ; and 
these incidents illustrate it. The reason may have 
been that the government believed that where the 
French habit and manner remained so strongly, there 
was good hope that, if left alone, after Great Britain 
should be weakened by the loss of the Colonies, the 
French in Canada would follow their example, and 
come back to the dominion of the nation with whom 
the affections of such great numbers of their popula- 
tion were so cemented. Certainly, the French flag 
was a strange banner to float over an expedition whose 
object was to regain the periled and lost territory of 
Great Britain. 

There were about sixty-five men in the garrison. Al- 
though Boone's family had gone, there were others 
of the weak and defenceless who must be protected. 
Tlie bravery of Boone and his force, and the strength 
of the log fortification, was to overcome the terrible 
odds of about six to one. Capt. Du Quesne was pre- 
sumed to be acquainted with the art of war as well. 



212 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

and in all probabilities better, than were the pioneers 
and settlers in the fort, while old Blackfish had earned 
supremacy among the Indians. With him in com- 
mand, the garrison could expect no mprcy. Boone 
*had forfeited all their lenity. His presence in full 
conniiand of the garrison, after having, for months, 
been in their power, when in any hour they might 
have crushed him, was a bitter triumph, and one 
which was to them a perpetual reproach. 

The influence of European or civilized custom was 
now apparent. Instead of a tremendous yell, the 
first process was the summons to surrender, above 
noted, which was m^de in all due form — Boonesbo- 
rough being invited to place itself under the merciful 
care of four hundred and forty-four Indians ! wild for 
vengeance on the Brave who had successfully eluded 
their utmost care. The twelve Canadians could not 
have turned the savages aside from cruelty, and it is 
hardly probable, in the extraordinary military policy 
of the day, that they would have very zealously so 
endeavored. 

Boone had, from the hour he gained the sight of 
the fort, when he escaped from Chillicothe, delibera- 
ted as to all that was necessary to the full defence of 
the station. It will be recollected that, by his know- 
ledge of their language, he was in full possession ofe, 
all tlieir plans — their alliances — and knew the de- 
termination to possess themselves of this garrison, as 



BOONE IN COMMAND. 



213 



tlio boldest and greatest plan of tlieir war. In all 
their operations, his captivity among them was a great 
feature, inasmuch as they knew very well thatBoones- 
borough, without Daniel Boone, was a fortress with 
its greatest protection absent. 




QHAPTEK XII. 

BOONE OBTAINS TWO DAYS TO CONSIDER THE SUMMONS TO . «JRKt:N DER — . 

HK REFUSES TO SURRENDER FURTHER NEGOTIATIONS OUTSIDE THE FORt 

TREACHERY OF THE INDIANS SQUIRE BOONE WOUNDED NINE DAYS 

BIEGE COMMENCES THE INDIANS RETREAT BOONE's GREAT SHOT 

HIS DAUGHTER THE SIEGE AND THE DEFENCE CAUSE OF KENTON's 

ABSENCE BOONE IS TRIED BY COURT-MARTIAL, AND HONORABLY AO 

QUITTED. 

When Booue had escaped, it took the Indians three 
weeks to recover from the surprise. Thej had to re 
arrange and remodel all their campaign. They had 
believed that they were sure of Boone. His being a 
prisoner, or being in command of the fort, a brave 
and desperate leader, was quite a different affair. Im- 
pressed with the belief that the Indians would make 
their boldest endeavor upon Boonesborough, he had 
sent off an express to the settlements (as the eastern 
habitations were designated) for assistance. The re- 
quest was addressed to Col. Arthur Campbell — whose 
name proclaims him of tlie Highlander settlers — and 
it became a very important feature in his movements 
to gain time, so that the gallant Campbell could reaclf 
him. 

Boone says that when the summons was given, " it 



THE GAERISON SUMMONED. 215 

• 

was a critical point with us. We were a small num- 
ber in the. garrison — a powerful army before our 
walls, whose appearance proclaimed inevitable deatli 
— fearfully painted, and marking their footsteps with 
desolation." To Boone, who knew what the terror 
of the Indian really was, the language was but cold 
truth. He demanded two days in which he might 
consider the proposal to surrender. It was every 
thing for him to gain these two days. In them. Col. 
Campbell or his men might make their appearance, 
and the enemy find the woods as much a foe as the 
fort. 

It seems somewhat surprising that Capt. Du Quesne 
and Blackfish agreed to the two days, especially as in 
them the garrison fdund means to collect their horses 
and cattle, and bring them through the posterns into 
the fort. Certainly, if court-martials were in fashion 
among the Shawanese, Blackfish deserved one ; or if 
time was granted by Capt. Du Quesne, his general- 
ship deserves the same review. What could have 
induced him to allow the garrison to provision them- 
selves, is mysterious, for every day's provision they 
obtained was a fearful loss to the besiegers. 

But men do not act thus without a reason. Du 
Quesne probably thought that there was very hard 
^ghting to be done before the fort could be conquered, 
and if he could win it by negotiation, it would spare 
his force a severe loss. Else, he could not have al- 



216 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

• 

lowed the provisions and water to be brought in, for 
the females were actively employed in the two days in 
bringing water from the spring. Bowman says, that 
the invaders, as soon as they had raised their flag, 
called for Capt. Boone. They knew that he was the 
strength of the garrison, and thought it wisest to seek to 
inveigle or persuade him first. They stated the terms 
of peace on which they would agree to a capitulation. 
As tlie Indians had negotiated witli Gen. Clarke at the 
Illinois, there was one reason to believe that the same 
sincerity might be observed here. It is doubtful 
whether Boone, who knew all their plans, for a mo- 
ment believed in their siricerity, but time ^yas every- 
thing, and every hour gained was a great gain. 

It seems, however, that during these two days the 
truce was faithfully kept, else the cattle could not 
have been brought in so safely. Indeed, Boone's lan- 
guage justifies this belief. Du Quesne, for his own 
reasons, was able to restrain the Indians ; while Boone 
never so far placed himself in their power, but that 
he could seek at once the protection of the walls. 
The two days expired. In this time they had become 
quite familiar with each other, and Boone observed 
many of those with whom he had feigned intimacy 
while at Cliillicothe. 

All being prepared, Boone consulted his me* 
whether anything lil.e a capitulation should be grant- 
ed. The conference was that of desperate men. Ho 



REFUSAL TO SUKRENDEfi. 217 

• 

Btates that death was preferable to captivity, for ho 
well knew that Du Quesiie could not prevent the In- 
dians from cruelty. The determination was to fight 
— although against such terrible odds — and Boone, 
who knew that he had the deepest stake in the trans- 
action, for he had most displeased the savage, was 
probably the first to insist upon holding the fortress 
to the last. 

Standing on one of the bastions, he returned the 
final answer of the garrison to the captain, who trans- 
lated it the Indians. He said, " We are determined 
to defend our fort while a man is living." Du Quesne, 
with the courtesy of his lineage, stood in attentive au- 
ditory of what Boone was saying. Boone was also 
courteous, and talked like a brave man. " We 
laugh at all your formidable preparations, but thank 
you for giving us notice and time to provide for our 
defence. Your efforts will not prevail, for our gates 
shall forever deny you admittance." This w^as a 
longer speech than usual with the Pioneer. The 
gratitude expressed for the time and opportunity to 
provision the fort, may have impressed Du Quesne as 
ii'onical. It may be asked here, why, if Boone took 
every precaution, this provisioning was not before ac- 
complished. The expedition "-o Paint Creek may 
have been the solution, since it was his bold policy 
to strike a blow, while the Indian only thought him 
preparing to receive one. 



218 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKF. 

Boone questions whether his language did not affect 
the courage of the invaders. It may have fully 
aroused them to the idea of what folly had been 
theirs in allowing the garrison this time. Boone 
thought they would immediately begin the siege, but 
the Frenchman had not quite exhausted his diploma- 
cy. It is quite likely that Boone's vigor in getting 
ready had taught him what a formidable task was be- 
fore him. The next move made by Du Quesne was 
to communicate the instructions of Gov. Hamilton, 
who was in command of Detroit, which, he said, were 
to take the garrison captive, but not to destroy it, and 
he requested that the garrison would send out nine 
of their chosen men to make a treaty, which, if done, 
the forces would be immediately withdrawn from un- 
der the walls, and the Indians and Canadians* would 
return home peaceably. Boone says, " this sounded 
grateful to our ears, and we agreed to the proposal." 

Why did Boone accede to this proposal ? He had 
every reason to believe in the cruel and desperate 
character of the foe. He had insulted and mortified 
them by his escape, and he could not but see that 
every thing in the case looked very unlike a peace or 
an agreement. The solution of all this may ha^e 
been, that in the use of Gov. Hamilton's name, Du 
Quesne struck a cord which vibrated. Boone knew 
the kindly feelings of the governor towards him. It 
had shown itself at Detroit in a manner in which 



THE CONFERENCE. 219 

there was no treachery or deceit, and if Hamilton had 
been allowed to follow the dictates of his own heart, 
Boone would not have been taken to Chillicotho, 
but would have been honorably discharged from 
captivity. 

Boone consulted his friends. Gov. Hamilton's 
name went far with him, and, at last, the selected 
nine went out. These were, among others, (and of 
course Boone was at their head,) his brother, Flan- 
ders, Callaway, Stephen and "William Hancock. To 
withdraw from the interior of the fort these men of 
mark, certainly seems to have been very unwise, but 
it is to be considered that Boone knew just what his 
men could do, and he knew well — accustomed as he 
was to the Indian — that the chances were greatly in 
favor of a safe retreat to the fort in any event. Those 
who had lived to old age, who had mingled in this 
affair, declared that they knew their strength and felt 
confident of success. They knew how strong and ac- 
tive they were, and from what Du Quesne had already 
lost by folly, they had no very great fear of him. 

They met in front of the fort, about one hundred 
and twenty feet from the walls — space enough for a 
party to cut them off, but this had not been forgotten. 
The sure riflemen of Boone's force were in such posi- 
tion as to give them the power at once to pour in 
such a fire as should prevent a surprise. The table 
of this conference was spread at the Lick — so 



220 LIFE OF DANIEL BoO^Jli. 

Bowman says — and the negotiation began, watched 
by rifle and by tomahawk in every minute of its 
progress. 

Boone's language is peculiar. *' We held the treaty 
within sixty yards of the garrison, on purpose to di- 
vert them from a breach of honor, as we could not 
avoid suspicion of the savages." They were to be di- 
vei'ted by a sufficiency of good rifles within fair dis- 
tance. He does not suspect the Canadian, because 
he knew how differently honor was estimated by sav- 
age and by soldier. The captain offered his terms, 
and they were very liberal, yet they contained the 
extraordinary proposition that the oath of allegiance 
should be taken to George III., and a submission made 
to the Canadian authorities. Doing this, they wei*e 
to be allowed to go with perfect freedom and take all 
their property. All this was too much, and Boone 
understood it. He knew that four hundred and fifty 
savages, who had been preparing for weeks and 
months for this expedition, did not come in all the 
panoply of war to end by a signature of a paper 
which they did not comprehend, and concerning 
which they did not care. They needed to gratify 
their vengeance — the captive at the stake, and the 
trophies of scalps. They did not intend that Boone 
should go unscatlied again, and he knew all this. He 
negotiated, and signed, and diplomatised, to gain 
time. Col. Campbell's troops might, at any moment. 



TREA-CHERT OF THE INDIANS. g^t 

make their appearance, for the express sent had been 
told of the extremity of the danger. Boone and his 
fellow-commissioners from the garrison signed the 
proposed treaty, curious to know what was to come 
next. But if Boone had not had cause to suspect the 
whole thing a fraud and a decoy, his act in signing 
the treaty might have been considered a desperate 
one, rendered under the possession of a force exceed- 
ing by many times his own. But the first explana- 
tion is sufficient. He knew his men, and when, after 
the treaty was finished, his father by adoption — Old 
Blackfish — arose, and commenced a speech, he knew 
the play had another act. Boone had relied on the 
presence of his good rifies, as the whole affair was 
within cover of their fire. They were such shots as 
upon them he could rely. The Indians now stepped 
into the front. As Du Quesne had been the paper 
and pen negotiator, their part was to come, and they 
soon avouched it. 

As became those who were engaged in the forma- 
tion of a treaty, neither had arms. It being an affair 
of peace, the outward appearances were consulted. 
The Indians, in their figurative language, declarcvi 
that this was a negotiation between two great ar- 
mies, and there should be evidence Ox entire friend- 
ship. It was customary among them, they said, on 
such occasions, for two Indians to shake hands with 
every white man. Now this was a scheme so trans- 



222 LIFE 0¥ DANIEL BOONE. 

parent that it must have been at once perceived, in 
all its intention, by Boone and the hardy men at his 
side. They consented, and the grasp was given — 
the cowardly savages having calculated that if each 
white man could be brought into contact with two 
Indians, the surprise would succeed. They mistook 
their men. These stalwart frontier pioneers and h\m^ 
ers were not easily captured. They were on their 
guard, and knew what each one could do. Of course, 
the exigency was one of desperation, and civilized 
men concentrate their energies tremendously in such 
cases. Bowman relates that Blackfish, after his long 
speech, uttered as a signal, the word " Go,^^ and that 
a signal gun was fired. If he is right in this, the pre- 
concert of the whole affair is seen at once — " the In- 
dians, fastened on them, were to take them off." The 
white men began to dispute the matter, though un- 
armed, and broke loose from them, though there were 
two or three Indians to one white man. It was the 
signal for a general firing — Boone's party endeavor- 
ing to protect them from the savages, while the In- 
dians poured in to assist their plot. Guns, by hun 
dreds, were fired, but they all escaped into the fort 
and closed and barricaded the heavy gates behind 
them ; all safe but Squire Boone, that brave brother, 
who was wounded. E"ever did nine men escape from 
sich crisis of peril. 
The treaty was forgotten, or made into wadding 



THE SIEGE BEGUN IN EAKNEST. 223 

Tlie besiogcrs liad lost character and time. Boone 
and his company had showed^the savages, at the be- 
ginning, of what lion-hearted courage they were made 
up. This display was of the very kind to intimidate 
the Indian. Any such exercise of great personal 
strength told upon the savage with a force beyond 
any other species of reasoning. 

Du Quesne and Blackiish now began the siege in 
earnest. They had a force that could pour into the 
fort a power of ammunition, that if a white maiiipre- 
sented himself within range must be fatal. The siege 
lasted nine days and nights, for the invader was in 
number sufficient to take alternate watches. It is 
easy for us to give these details to the page, or to pe- 
ruse them, but the reality of that tight never could be 
effaced from the memory of those who participated in 
it. It was one of^the most heroic of that series of 
struggles which gave to Kentucky such bloody ad- 
mission into the family of nations. A few gallant 
men, trained in a forest school, were shut up in a 
feeble fort, which, if the enemy had possessed artil- 
lery or scaling ladders, might have been knocked to 
pieces or covered with men. They had around them 
those whose life was dearer than their own. The 
balls fell like rain, and there was no hour for rest. 
It needed such a scene to illustrate the energy of the 
great Pioneer's character. His conduct on this occa- 
sior shows him entitled to rank among the braveai 



221 LIFE GI' UAXXL'L UOOA'E. 

warriors of our counhy. Indeed, Boone personally 
enacted an heroism imftieasurablj superior to that of 
many to whom history assigns the laurel. Alone or 
at the head of his men, he was ever the bi-ave man, 
content to do his duty nnder every form or circum- 
stance of peril. 

The men at the fort fired when they could hit, 
while the savages seem to have fired away, as con- 
scious of a full treasury of powder and lead on which 
thej^could rely. Boone says : " After they were gone 
we picked up one hundred and twenty-five pounds of 
bullets, besides what stuck in the logs of our fort — • 
which certainly is a great proof of their industry ! " 
It was a great proof of the fact that the Indian knew, 
by fatal experience, that if he showed himself within 
range he was destined to know the accuracy of a Ken- 
tuckian's aim. The picture of the old fort, so accu- 
rately given in Collin's Kentucky, from a sketcli by 
Col. Henderson, shows near it a belt of woods. These 
probably sheltered the savages, who blazed away im- 
potently, only at rare intervals doing any injury, 
•Tke defenders lost two men, and there wei-e four 
wounded. Of this loss, one of the killed and one of 
the wounded was in conse(pience of a desertion from 
the fort, of a negro, who had a capital rifle, and also 
had been trained to do execution with it, as was the 
education of all those in the fort. He got intoatree^ 
and having a good aim, was soon one of the most sue 



225 

cessfiil of the assailants. Boone found tliis out, 
watcbed liim, and when he saw his head, fired. The 
man was found after the battle — a ball in his head — 
the shot being made at the distance of one hundred 
and seventy -five yards — five hundred and twenty-five 
feet. In all his best days Leather Stocking never sur- 
passed this. The Indian felt Boone in every hour of 
tbe siege. 

Onb of Boone's daughters remained in the fort. 
Why she did not accompany her mother in the re- 
turn to Korth Carolina, is not from the records aippa- 
rent ; but as it was with her, when married to Mr. 
Callaway, that he in his old age resided, it may be 
that her attachment to her father was so great that 
she preferred the perils of the fort rather than to be 
separated from him. She was a noble girl - ^ 

" Of such a sire, descendant true." 

She labored in the defence as zealously as her strength 
permitted, and was of those who supplied the ammu- 
hition. She was wounded, and when the annals of 
the heroic women of America are written, her name 
deserves conspicuous place. The Indians tried that 
by which they had often won horrible passage to the 
dwelling of the white man. They threw fire on the 
fort and it took ! — and for a time it seemed as if the 
fated hour for Boonesborough had come. There was 
310 time for thought. At all risk the fire must be ex 
J* 15 



226 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

tinguished, and hy the boldness and bravery of one 
young man, who risked and dared all the storm of 
balls, the impending danger was averted. All these 
things disheartened the Indians, for they had no re- 
course beyond the immediate act, and when in the 
conflict of physical strength they were overcome, 
they could see no recourse but flight ; for, notwith- 
standing all that is said of their bravery, the Indian 
was quite ready to recognize that there is a time to 
run. Bowman says the fire was kept up during all 
the siege without intermission ; but this must be some- 
what figurative, as during nine days and nights, if 
the battle had not sometimes wavered or ceased, the 
physical endurance of the garrison must have failed. 

Boone relates one of the best tactics of the be- 
siegers. " The enemy begun to undermine our fort, 
which was situated fifty yards from Kentucky River. 
They began at the water mark, and proceeded in the 
bank some distance, which we understood by their 
making the water muddy with the clay ; and we im- 
mediately proceeded to disappoint their design by 
cutting a trench across their subterranean passage. 
The enemy discovering our countermine, by the clay 
we threw out of the fort, desisted from that stratagem." 

This device was too good to have been suggested 
by the Indians. It was a point in civilized warfare, 
and was probably counseled by Du Quesne ; but he 
forgot that the Pioneer had not been an inattentive 



THE INDIANS KAISE THE 8IEGE. Si27 

ooserver of whatever of war and its incidents lie had 
witnessed at Detroit. The digging was too hard work 
for the Indian, and so far as he participated in it, he 
was doubtless quite willing to discontinue the labor. 

Experience, Boone says, fully convinced them that 
neither their power nor their policy could effect their 
purpose. On the twentieth day of August, (Mr. 
Peck says, twentieth of September,) they raised the 
^iege and departed. 

This was a great siege. It is one of the most mem- 
orable pages in our military history. While other 
and minor affairs have placed their chief actors high 
in fame, the siege of Boonesborough, sustained for 
nine days — four hundred men against fifty — in a 
wild country — against a selected band of Indian" 
warriors — has been comparatively forgotten. It re- 
sembles the desperate battles of the Old World, and 
had it occurred in Europe, no honors or reward would 
have been too great for the bold defender. Boone 
was not the man to make conspicuous his own 
achievements. 

Boone and others who survived, in their old days 
spoke with gratitude of their preservation. He was 
the man to remember, as brave men do, who had been 
the defender of the oppressed. 

In this repulse of the savage, Boone felt the absence 
of one of his boldest and bravest men — one whose 
courage and skill would have made themselves visible 



22S ITPE OF DANIEL BOO^rE, 

to the discomfiture of the enemy. Simon KentoD 
was not a man to be willinglj away from such a 
scene. His absence was owing to the following cir- 
cumstances : 

" Kenton finding Boone about to undertake an expedition 
against a small town on Paint Creek, readily joined him. 
Inaction was irksome to the hardy youth in such stirring 
times ; besides he had some melancholy reflections that he 
could only escape from in the excitement of danger and ad- 
venture. The party, consisting of nineteen men, and com- 
manded by Boone, arrived in the neighborhood of the In- 
dian village. Kenton, who as usual was in advance, was 
startled by hearing loud peals of laughter from a cane-brake 
just before him. He scarcely had time to tree before two 
Indians, mounted upon a small pony, one facing the animal's 
, tail, and the other Ms head, totally unsuspicious of danger 
and in excellent spirits, made their appearance. He pulled 
trigger and both Indians fell, one killed and the other se- 
verely wounded. He hastened up to scalp his adversaries, 
and was immediately surrounded by about forty hidians. 
His situation, dodging from tree to tree, was uncomfortable 
enough, imtil Boone and his party coming up, furiously at- 
tacked, and defeated the savages. Boone immediately re- 
turned to the succor of his fort, having ascertained that a 
large war party had gone against it. Kenton and Montgom- 
ery, however resolved to proceed to the village to get " a 
shot," and steal horses. They lay withm good rifle distance 
of the village for two days and a night, without seeing a 
single warrior ; on the second night they each mounted a fine 
horse, and put off to Kentucky, and the day after the In- 
dians raised the siege of Boonesborough, they cantered into 
the fort on thwr stolen property." — Collins' Kentucky, 



CHAGRIN OF THE INDIANS. 229 

This siege culminated tlie military history of 
Boonesborongh. It was the last attack it sustained, 
and it was fairly entitled to the title of the Impreg- 
nable. Boonesborongh now is a small village, and 
yet it will always remain, in the history of Kentucky 
and of the country, a classical locality. In later days, 
the voice of eloquence has made the scenes of the 
Hunter and the Warrior live again. Senator More- 
head, distinguished for his intellect in a land where 
such men as Clay, and Crittenden, and Breckenridge 
lived, delivered, in 184-0, an address in commemora- 
tion of the historical incidents of the place, which is 
of the most valuable contributions to our annals. 
Kentucky owes it to itself to build, at the site of the 
fort, a -monument, worthy in its magnitude of the 
place where brave men laid the corner stone on which 
the great edifice of the State has been so successfully 
reared. 

After the siege was over, the Indians dispersed. 
They felt the deepest chagrin that they could not 
have secured Boone. He was the noblest prisoner 
they had ever secured, and twice he had successfully 
escaped. He had crossed river and swamp — en- 
dured hunger and every privation — and after such a 
march as would have done honor to their best war- 
rior, had disappointed all their hope of taking the 
fortress. Tliey had lost the leader, and not gained 



230 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

the garrison. Boone henceforth was a memorable 
word in Indian tradition. 

Their loss was heavy. The fire from the fort killed 
thirty-seven, and wounded a great number. When 
they left, they went in different parties to the several 
forts, and waylaid the hunters. It is quite probable 
that, had they been successful at Boonesborough, the 
American cause would have suffered greatly, for it 
would have been complete encouragement to the 
British to sustain tlie alliance with the Indians at any 
cost. 

Curiously — certainly it would be curious if histo- 
ry did not show so man}- similar instances — the hon- 
or that first awaited this brave soldier, who had con- 
ducted himself with a valor worthy the plaudit of a 
nation, was a — Court-Martial ! We have had illus- 
trations in our own day of heroism and consummate 
military skill, receiving the same reward. Four 
charges were made against him — the first concerning 
the capture of the salt-makers at Blue Licks ; the 
second, a very singular one — " manifesting friendly 
feelings towards the Indians while a prisoner, and of- 
fering to surrender Boonesborough, have the people 
removed to Detroit, and live under British protection 
and jurisdiction" — taking off a party of men from 
Boonesborough, in his expedition to Scioto, and thus 
weakening the garrison, when he had reason to be- 
lieve the Indians were about to invade the fort ^- and 



BOONE TRIED BY COURT-MARTIAL. 



231 



at the siege of Boonesborough, being willing to take 
the officers to the Indian camp, and thus endangering 
the garrison. 

It nuist be that this court was called by his friends, 
to give him an opportunity to show to the world the 
consummate skill with which he had conducted him- 
self in the most intensely precarious positions. Of 
the most honorable result of this trial, mention has 
before been made. Mr. Peck says : "After a fulMn- 
vestigation he was acquitted honorably, and the con- 
fidence of the people in his patriotsm and sagacity 
confirmed and increased." The reader who has care- 
fully noted the conduct of the Pioneer, will realize 
how truly he deserved the gratitude of his country 
for his wisdom and bravery in all these situations. 




CHAPTER XIII. 

|tK8ULTS OF THE WAR A RETROSPECT — BOONE VISITS HIS FAMILY Df 

NORTH CAROLINA — EMIGRATION TO THE WEST INCREASES LAND OFFICl 

ESTABLISHED COMMISSIONERS TO SETTLE SOLDIERs' LAND CLAIMS GOV. 

SHELBY GREAT ACTIVITY IN THE SURVEYING OF LAND BOONE IS ROBBED 

OF A LARGE SUM OF MONEY ITS EFFECT ON BOONE THE LAND LAW. 

The year 17T8, like every other year of the Ke- 
volutionary period, was one of alarm. The great 
power against which the colonists were forced to con- 
tend, spread its attacks and aggressions throughout all 
the land, and the Indian was relied upon as one of 
the most efficient means of delaying the progress of 
the frontier towards the arts and power of civilization. 
While the settlers were in all the distress that their 
neighborhood to a savage foe could produce, the army 
at "Valley Forge were enduring all the trials and pri- 
vations, which have made the name of their residence 
sadly famous in our history. From the ordeal of 
such sorrows, freedom rose in all its strength. Their 
suffering gave purity and firmness to their principles. 

While the battles of the Atlantic States are en- 
shrined in the annals of the country, and those by 
whose valor they were won, have been immortalized, 
the brave men whose courage was as conspicuoua 



A RETROSPECT. 233 

and whose trial was far more severe, have been, in 
great measure, rejected ; and jet, an authority so high 
as that of Gov. Morehead, says Boone's triumph saved 
the frontier from depopulation. The Indian felt that 
^le West was especially his own battle ground, and 
he yielded the po'j^ession of his hunting ground, only 
after he had exhausted all the means of defense and 
attack of which he was capable. When he found, 
just before the commencement of the Revolution, 
that the mountains, behind which were his cherished 
hunting grounds, had been overcome, impregnable as 
he had believed they were, by the bold adventure 
of such men as Boone and Finley, he thought himself 
able to drive out or crush the invader by a foray ; 
but as the strength of the settler developed, he saw 
his increasing danger, and felt how powerful was his 
foe. The quarrel between the Colonies and the Brit- 
ish, brouglit to his aid the treasury and arsenals of 
the English, and, aided by these, he believed he 
would soon possess the power to exterminate the pio- 
neer. ♦ Hence, the fight at Boonesborough and the 
long series of attacks of which it was the principal. 
The Indian fought for existence, and fought- hard. 
When Boone has finished his relation of the sieere 
of Boonesborough, he dismisses a period in his life as 
though it were but of small moment : " Soon after 
this, I went into the settlement, and nothing worthy 
of a place in tliis account, passed in my affairs for 



234: LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 

some time." However unworthy of being included 
in liis history Boone may have considered the events 
of the ensuing time, the labors of faithful historians 
have enabled readers t£> judge for themselves, and it 
will be seen that the review is of interest. Probably 
because it was of an embarrassing and unpleasant na- 
ture, Boone avoided the dictation to Filson, of so 
much of his life. It suffices him to tell, in a few word* 
the story of his domestic life : " Shortly after the 
troubles at Boonesborough, I went to my family, and 
lived peaceably there. The history of my going 
home, and returning with my family, forms a series 
of difficulties, an account of which would swell a vol- 
ume, and being foreign to my purpose, I omit them." 
It was a wise remark of John Quincy Adams, that 
posterity is always anxious for detail ; and in this 
case of the life of a man who was so truly one of 
the founders of Empire, the world would be glad to 
know all that illustrates his character. If Boone 
had left a more extended record of all his life, it 
would have been one of the most valuable of all 
contributions to the history of his country. There is, 
however, a modesty and dignity in the unwillingness 
to bring himself personally before the world, which 
is coincident with what Boone really was. He con- 
eidered that if his narrative illustrated the manner 
in which his beloved Kentucky was brought from the 
forest to be the abode of a noble people, it was rig-ht 



235 

that he should give it ; but as to making himself the 
hero of the storj, the recital shows that he did not 
intend this ; for had he so intended, he would have 
told the tale of his fierce fighting, with all the par- 
ticulars, for which, in most men's personal narratives, 
we are not com2)elled to search. 

When Boone returned to the Carolinas, he recol- 
lected with what strange vicissitudes his life had been 
marked since he, with that gallant and hopeful com- 
pany — gathered by the magic of the bright narra- 
tions he had given of the glowing fertility of the Ken- 
tucky country — had essayed their path across the 
mountains. His son had been the first victim. Since 
that loss, his own life had been suspended under the 
impending blow of Indian cruelty. He had borne 
the chief part in a sieg*e, for the dangers of which the 
annals of the country show but few parallels. Every- 
where war had been about him, and, peaceable and 
mild as he was, he had been compelled to make his 
rifle his hourly companion. He had deserved to be, 
if he was not, since he left the Yadkin, one of those 
whose names are on the voice of men, as eminent and 
honorable. 

The wnld scenes of his Chillicothian captivity could 
not be effaced from memory. That for weeks and 
months he had been held in the toils of the savage — ■ 
with each sun rising upon his most uncertain destiny 
— his life completely in their power — that all thig 



236 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

Bliould have been changed in a few days to the extra- 
ordinary position of being the leader of a fortress sus- 
taining a fierce seige, against the very savages who 
had held him in bondage — himself the while con- 
scious that the Indian, in all the cruelty of disap- 
pointed rage, was awaiting his retaking to make liira 
a monument of their vengeance — this must have 
been present to him in all its reality. To exchange 
this for a peaceful home — friends and family around 
him — was in vivid contrast! Such scenes are not 
in the life of every man. They made part of the ex- 
traordinary experiences of an extraordinary man. 
To Boone life seemed a wheel whose circuit was run 
in tlie midst of the rough and sharp rocks of danger, 
and again in the pleasant abundance of regions the 
most fertile and soil the most luxuriant ; and in the 
battle or at home, a captive or free, he was the same 
firm and gentle man. 

The excellent effect of the determined stand which 
had been taken at Boonesborough, now fully devel- 
oped itself. It had been the turning point where was 
to be determined whether the savage should proceed 
to reassert his lost rights, and make a new and better 
title to his hunting fields, or whether the white man 
should hold them under the dominion of the plough. 
It was whether Kentucky should go back to the In- 
dians or lorward to the whites. The news that fifty meu 
had driven back and defeated four hundred and fifty 



EMIGRATION CONTINUES. 237 

savages, and that the Indians had fled, was soon known 
through the settlements. The presence of Boone 
there, in safety and unharmed, after his captivity and 
battles, -was an indication of security, and it was of 
effect, ^^rginia — who had refused to advance to 
GeA. Clai'ke a few tons of powder for the defence of 
the frontier, fearing that it was an adventure too haz- 
ardous, and uncertain whether her own dominion was 
extended there, or whether the defiance given to their 
governor by Henderson might not be a potent one — 
concluded that her fears were groundless, and that 
she had a great treasure in her western possessions. 
There were large estates to be had, and those who 
adventured earliest found a wide freedom of choice. 
Hence emigration, in the year 1779, was abundant. 
Even the progress of the revolutionary incidents could 
not subdue the desire to exchange a barren home on 
the seaboard for the luxuriant harvest fields of the 
land Boone had brought into notice. These lands 
were, in the phrase of the act, on the western waters, 
and to secure her rights in relation to the lands and 
the revenue arising therefrom, Yirginia established a 
land ofiice. A selection of prominent citizens was 
made to form the court, who shouM go from place to 
place where questions were presented, and confirm 
the titles. Of course, in the formation and extin- 
guishment of the State of Transylvaoia — in the vari 
ous affairs, complicated and uncertain, arising out of 



238 LIFE OF DAmEL BOONE. 

the weighty claim of Col. Henderson — in all this 
there was W3rk enough for the commissioners, and 
their decisions were to be of the highest importance. 
A similar position of affairs in respect to land titles 
has, in other States, called for like action. 

To settle the many questions which came out of 
the granting of land to the soldiers of the Revolution, 
the State of Kew York once instituted a commission, 
one of the members of which — Yincent Mathews — 
survived to witness her great prosperity, which fol- 
lowed the decision of the various contests. The ses- 
sion of this tribunal was, in part, held at Aurora, on" 
the Cayuga Lake. 

The Yirginia commissioners were William Flem- 
ing, Edmund Lyne, Stephen Twigg, and James Bar- 
bour. (The last name is associated in modern events 
with statesmanshij).) This commission commenced 
its duties at St. Asaph's, October 13th, 1779, and the 
first claim presented was that of the distinguished 
man who afterwards first wore the gubernatorit^l hon- 
ors of Kentucky. Isaac Shelby presented a claim for 
adjudication, having raised a crop of corn in the 
country in 1776. He had been a deputy surveyor 
for the Transylvania Company ; for Henderson seems 
to have been singularly successful in originating the 
career of those who in after times bemme men of 
mark: This crop, of corn, in 1776, was the beginning 
of that Kentucky life which, iu him, was distinguished 



THE VIEGINIA LAND LAW. 239 

for all that could illustrate, in high honor, her fame 
Gov. Morehead says this famous land law gave birth 
to unnumbered woes. The trial to ^hicli it subjected 
Boone was one of these. This strange and unfortu- 
nate law provided " that any person might acquire 
title to so much waste and unappropriated land as he or 
she might desire to pm-chase, on paying the considera- 
tion of forty pounds for every hundred acres, and so in 
proportion." The money was to be paid to the treas- 
urer — whose receipt, when given to the auditor,* en- 
itle to a certificate. This certificate beino' ludo^ed in 
the land office, the register granted a warrant author- 
izing the land to be surveyed. Surveyors who had 
passed the ordeal of William and Mary College were to 
lay out the land, and on their return, the register 
made due record, and made out a grant, and this long 
labyrinth had it& exit in a deed which was to have 
the signature of the governor, with the seal of the 
commonwealth attached. 

Even in these days — with all our flood of legal 
learning — with common schools, and time to attend 
them — with no Indian fight nearer than the Eocky 
Mountains — it may be doubted how many of us could 
get a title successfully through such a chain of evi- 
dence. It must have been the last act drawn by the 
special pleading lawyers. It was not a statute for the 
hunter and the pioneer. But the land was very de 
eirable, and there was a rage to obtain it. The hunt- 



240 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ers were puslied aside for the land-jobbers. Collins 
says : "Tlie surveyor's chain and compass were seea 
in the woods as frequently as the rifle : the great object 
in Kentucky was to enter, survey and get a patent for 
land." Great precision was required in entries, and 
all vague entries were void. The forest men desired 
to get the land as keenly as did the land speculator ; 
but the former could draw a sight with liis rifle, better 
than he could designate the line of his lot, and all be- 
came intermingled, and in confusion. Boone, while 
with his family, as was most natural, desired to se- 
cure his home, also, in the land he had often called 
by such names of beauty, and as he had been in the 
fight quite enough to satisfy him for a time, now 
turned his attention to the land office. It was doubt- 
less the counsel of his kind and considerate wife that 
he should do so, as she hoped to secure him from fur- 
ther toil and disaster. He says that he laid out the 
chief of his little property to secure land warrants, 
and having raised about twenty thousand dollars in 
paper money, with which he intended to purchase 
them, on his way from Kentucky to Richmond he 
was robbed of the whole, and left destitute of the 
means of procuring more. He had also been entrust 
ed with the amount raised by friends, who probably 
thought that their claims, with such an agent as 
Boone, who had been so much the author of the 



BOONE ROBBED OF HIS MONEY. 241 

prosperity of wliich this great area was available, 
would meet speedy settlement. 

A receipt was preserved by ]N"atlianiel Hart, Esq., 
of Woodford, tliat from Hart, Boone received about 
twenty-nine hundred pounds, Virginia money. 

His robbery gained for him the same fate that be- 
falls nearly all men who meet with misfortune, while 
engaged in the execution of a pecuniary trust. He 
was censured, and it was either charged or insinuated 
that he had retained the money. Similar cases are 
in the memory of every man. It was a severe blow 
to Boone, whose simple-hearted integrity had ever 
held him above all suspicion of dishonor. It was a 
blow the more severe, because it seemed to wreck 
his property and character, and doubtless he often 
felt that his captivity at Chillicothe might, for him, 
as well have been a perpetual one. JSTo w^onder Boone 
calls it " a series of difficulties." Most fortunately 
for the fame of Boone, Gov. Morehead has preserved 
the following extract of a letter from Oapt. Thos. Hart '. 

" I observe what you say respecting our losses by Daniel 
Boone. I had heard of the misfortune soon after it hap- 
pened, but not of my being a partaker before now. I feex 
for the poor people, who, perhaps, are to lose even their 
preemptions : but I must say, I feel more for Boone, whose 
character, I am told, suffers by it. Much degenerated must 
the people of this age be, when amongst them are to be 
found men to censure and blast the reputation of a person so 
K 16 



242 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOi^E. 

just and upright, and in whose breast is a seat of virtue too 
pure to admit of a thought so base and dishonorable. I have 
known Boone in times of old, when poverty and distress had 
him fast by the hand ; and in these wretched circumstances, 
I have ever found him of a noble and generous soul, despi 
sing everything mean ; and, therefore, I will freely grant 
him a discharge for whatever sums of mine he might have 
been possessed of at the time." 



There is in this letter valuable light given to the 
history and character of Boone. It is a private let- 
ter — a very well written one — and one in which there 
is no display or invention, as might have been found 
in a public document. It is an honorable tribute to 
an honorable man. It shows us that Boone was, in 
earlier life, poor and distressed, and yet a sti-anger 
even to a thought that was base or dishonorable. It 
shows that an intelligent contemporary, finding himself 
a pecuniary sufferer, still in that hour calls the man 
through whose misfortune his loss has come, a noble 
and generous soul. Such a testimonial is of intense 
value. Men do not say such things of their associ- 
ates in life, in jprivate letters^ unless the truth impels 
the sentiment. 

i It shows, also, that not merely the rich, but the 
poor confided in him ; and it is quite likely that 
Boone felt the accumulated trouble consequent on all 
this, more than he ever did Indian captivity or bor- 
der dijficiilty. Boone had the sagacity to outmanoeu- 



THE LAITD LAW UNPOPULAR. 243 

ver a host of savages, but the robbers that made a 
prey of him, in his journey, were beyond his strategy. 
The land law, even had Boone not been robbed, 
would have been disastrous to him. If he located, he 
did so under circumstances which could be turned 
against him by some sharper. There would be some 
defect — technical and incomprehensible, but disas- 
trous — by which he would have lost all. Boone had 
been accustomed to locate by the majesty of discov- 
ery. Alone in all Kentucky, he seemed almost to 
possess the right which Columbus had, when he first 
heard the 

" dashing, 



Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador :'* 

and he could not bring himself to believe that it was 
right to limit him to all the angles and meshes of a 
most intricate statute. If Boone ever was that which 
some have described him, and which he was believed 
to be before a proper investigation had been given to 
his character — a misanthrope — it was the creation 
of those who, as Capt. Hart says, endeavored to cen- 
sure and blast his reputation. Byron says of Boone 
that " he shrunk from men even of his nation ; " but 
the fancy of the poet is in the thought, for Boone re- 
spected men whose nature proved itself by generous 
acts. From those who accused him of being the rob 



244 



LIFE OF DANIEL B00N;B. 



ber of the poor, he doubtless wished to place the sep- 
aration of the forest. 

Kotwithstandiug all the long train of troubles 
which ensued upon the land law, Finley, whose work 
in Kentucky was for many years of great authority, 
considered the law as most beneficent. Being a little 
of the " refrrmer," something of the soldier, as he was 
a captaiuj a)id withal a commissioner for laying out 
the lands iii the settlements, he rather liked the law, 
as it seemea to provide for everything, and leave no- 
thing to the lawyers. Vain hope ! It occupied the 
bar for a half century I 




CHAPTEE XIY. 

BOONE RETITRNS TO BOONESBOROUGH TflTH HI8 FAMILT TfJE BRITISH AND 

INDIANS CONTEMPLATE A BOLD ATTACK ON KENTUCKT ANECDOTE OF 

BANDOLPH GOV. MOREHEAd's HISTORY OF BOONESBOROUGH BOONK 

AND HIS BROTHER GO TO THE BLUE LICKS HIS BROTH i£R IS SHOT BY IN- 
DIANS BOONE IS PURSUED AND ESCAPES THE COLD WINTER OF 1780 

ORGANIZATION OF COUNTIES INDIAN HOSTILITIES RENEWED THE BRIT- 
ISH GOVERNMENT AND THE INDIANS THE RENEGADES GIRTY ANDMCKEK 

CONSTANT ALARMS OF THE SETTLERS THE CONFEDELATTSD INDIANS — 

BOONE AGAIN AFFLICTED IN THE DEATH OF BRYANT. 

Boone could not remain in the settlements. The 
home he desired was in broader compass. With his 
losses, there was renewed and greater occapion for his 
exertion. That exertion he was yet able co make, for 
now he was in the zenith of his life — being forty- 
five — though it is most probable that, with his ex- 
traordinary exposures, time had borne heavily on 
him, and that he appeared to be a much older man 
than in reality he was. He determined to go back to 
Boonesborough, and, to the everlasting honor of his 
wife, she agreed to accompany him. Hev heart must 
have been to remain in the pleasant home, where the 
night passed without the yell of the blood-thirsty 
Bavage, fiercely endeavoring to destroy life and pro- 
perty ; but she knew her duty to accomp.iny her no- 



24f6 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ble hearted husband, and she and her family again 
prepared tc go to the land of the rich but perilous 
West. The road was better known now. The pro- 
babilities were that there would be found many bound 
for the same land of enterprise. With all she held 
precious in life, she again essayed the journey whose 
bitterest incident, in former years, had been the loss 
of her gallant child. She could scarcely expect but 
that a similar fate might be but too likely to await 
the bold men around her, who would be found fore- 
most in every scene of danger. 

Boone says, in condensed phrase, that he " settled 
his family in Boonesborough once more." The old 
fort had its brave defender once more within its walls, 
and when Boone stood within it, it is not fancy to 
suppose that the memories of the many fierce fights 
he had known, in each of which he had been an ac- 
tor, and which had been waged to obtain possession 
of this place, must have been in his thought. He 
had linked his name to fame, among brave and suc- 
cessful soldiers, by his great defence, and the fort was 
to him no common place. 

Boonesborough was destined to no siege after this. 
It had possessed its share of reverses in that way, and 
the savage attempted its conquest no more. 

And yet it might easily have been captured, if ar- 
tillery had been used against it — that most powerful 
arm of war which overcomes distance, and before 



ANOTHER EXrEDITION A??A1NST KENTUCKY. 247 

which the keen rifle is powerless. That it needed 
this, to give them conquest over the settler's bul- 
warks, the British found out in 1780. "When General 
Clarke had successfully pursued his noble campaign 
of destroying the great' influence which the British 
possessed over the Indian, by the support received at 
Detroit, Yincennes and Kaskaskia, and had turned 
the tables by actually taking Col. Hamilton prisoner 
— the same who had commanded at Detroit when 
Boone was led there in captivity — the British deter- 
mined to make a bold and vigorous attack on Ken- 
tucky. They organized a force of six hundred In- 
dians and Canadians, under the command of Colonel 
Byrd ; but the Indians and Canadians would have 
come and gone again, had they not brought with 
them two cannon. There was immense difiiculty in 
their transportation, and hence the unwillingness of 
parties to encumber themselves with them. Their 
route was, as far as possible, by water, using the Great 
Miami, the Ohio, and the Licking. In the times of 
the war of 1812, when the authorities of the United 
States desired to transport cannon, even over a road 
as much worked and traveled as that between Albany 
and Bufi'alo, the labor of forwarding them was so 
enormous that very often, after the severe work of sj^ 
entire day, the place of starting could be seen at eve- 
ning from the place of rest. In our day, all over the 
land to which Boone invited the settler, and where 



248 LIFE OP DANIEL BOONE. 

the weary pioneer held his difficult 'v^ ay, the iron road 
threads its way in all directions, so that an array coula 
concentrate with all the pomp and circumstance of 
war, in less hom's than the men of Boone's time could 
have reckoned by days; and even yet there live some 
men who have seen the country in both its great 
conditions. 

Strange it was that this army with its artillery con 
fined itself but to conquests in part, for, with its iron 
allies, it might have swept out of existence, as well 
Boonesborough as the other log-built fortresses ; but 
Heaven destined a better fate for the great State of 
which these forts were the parentage. 

Boonesborough had once been recognized by the 
law of Virginia in all the dignity of a municipality. 
It, with more of adventure than belongs to most 
towns in our country, had commenced its career in a 
State suffici-ently sovereign and independent while it 
lasted, but whose duration had been rather brief. It 
had been a subject to the laws of the Third George, 
of England, but a short time. It had known tlie au- 
thority of Col. Henderson's Transylvania for a period 
as brief; and now the Ancient Dominion took the 
fort under its dignified protection. In October, 1779, 
the Legislature of Virginia established by law the 
town of Boonesborough, m the county of Kentucky ! 

That Virginia once held the State of Kentucky aa 
an appendage — a mere county — seems strange Id 



ANECIX)TE OF RANDOLPH. 249 

deed. Wlien, in his best days, tlie eloquent Ran- 
dolj^h was introduced to a gentleman from Kentucky, 
he told him he was from the Botany Bay of Vir- 
ginia. The Kentuckian felt the remark to be dis- 
courteous, and could not avoid manifesang his sur- 
prise ; but the statesman immediately sai J( — " Yes — 
-just as England, which at first sent only lier rougher 
population to Botany Bay, has founded a State which 
will outrival and exceed its parent, it ^/vnll be with 
Kentucky." Randolph did not live to see how truth- 
fully Australia was working out, in its griden treas- 
ure, his illustration, but he did survive to note how 
steady and sure was the advance of Kentacky till, in 
freshness of action and strength of resource, it be- 
comes peer to the State which once considered it only 
as a far-off, frontier county. 

Of this town Daniel Boone was named, in the act, 
as one of the trustees. Surveys of the lots were or- 
dered, and a very liberal grant directed to be made to 
all who would build a dwelling at least sixteen feet 
square, w^ith a brick, stone or dirt chimney. The cit- 
izens of Kentucky have enlarged their ideas of archi- 
tecture since that law passed. Every one of the 
trustees declined to act. What induced this whole- 
sale modesty of office on the part of these settlers 
does not appear. It is quite probable that Boone de- 
sired no connection with anything that looked like a 
land office, after his experiences in such subjects. 
K* 



250 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

He has been so much before us, as connected with 
Boonesborough, that it becomes appropriate to quote 
here the eloquent delineation given by Gov. More- 
head of the subsequent history of the town. 

" Even with the assistance of these bountiful provisions, 
Boonesborough neve"^ rose to any importance among the vil- 
lages of Kentucky, ^t was the first, and perhaps on that ac^ 
count, in the earlier period of her history the doomed for- 
tress, against which the savages seemed to have directed their 
most determined efforts, and having withstood them, through 
a series of years of difficulty and danger, it lost precedence 
which circumstances had given to it, and sunk with the dis- 
appearance of the enemy whose incursions it had so success- 
fully resisted. Time hastpassed roughly over the consecra^ 
ted spot of the first settlement of Kentucky. The " lots and 
streets " of Boonesborough have ceased to be known by 
their original lines and landmarks. The work of the pio- 
neers has perished. Scarce a vestige remains of their rudely 
built cabins and their feeble palisades. The elm under whose 
shade they worshipped and legislated and took counsel of 
each other for safety and defence, no longer surAdves to 
spread its ample canopy over our heads. But the soil on 
which they stood is under our feet. The spring which slaked 
their burning thirst, at every pause in their conflicts with the 
remorseless foe, is at our side. The river from whose cliffs 
the Indian leveled his rifle at the invaders of his hunting 
ground, still rolls its " arrowy " current at our back. These 
are memorials that cannot fail. How replete with interest 
are the reminiscences they awaken ! 

" They remind us of Boone ar.d bis adventurous compan- 
ions, plying the forest with their axes, and thromng their 
quick and anxious glances arounv them, as if the reverbera- 



251 

tion of every stroke might be the tocsin of their doom — of 
Henderson, and Hart, and Williams, the self-styled proprie- 
tors of the ' new born country,' priding themselves on their 
title to the soil, hurling defiance at a royal governor, claim- 
ing admission into the confederacy of united colonies, and 
' placing the corner-stone of a ' political ' edifice ' that would 
only be great and glorious in proportion to the excellence of 
its foundation — of Slaughter, and Todd, and Floyd, and Har- 
rod, and Callaway, the law-givers and defenders of the fron- 
tier ; of Sy the, the peaceful ' minister of the church of Eng- 
land,' whose sacred vocation could not exempt him from the 
death of the tomahawk : and while we are thus reminded of 
the men, by whose valor and perseverance this fair land was 
won, and by whose agency its institutions were planted, who 
does not feel himself borne down by the weight of the ob- 
ligations of respect and gratitude, which their services have 
imposed 1 Honor to the memory — peace to the ashes of the 
first settlers of Kentucky ! " 

No sooner did Boone return to Boohesborougb than 
his adventures and his perils were renewed. Indeed, 
his whole life was one series of wild and stra-nge ex- 
periences. He found the fort not likely to be at- 
tacked,' as there were so many settlements around it 
as to give the foe too much annoyance in the rear, if 
he attempted it. Pie projected an expedition to the 
Blue Licks, and was accompanied by his brother, 
Squire, who had so often been with him in the perils 
of the forest and the fort. They left on the sixth of 
October, 1780. It may be that as they had the win- 
ter before them, they visited this disastrous locality 



252 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOJST:. 

for the purpose of seeking a supply of salt, with 
wbicli to prepare their provisions for the winter; or 
it may have been only the passion for the adventu- 
rous in hunting. These same men had hunted to- 
gether when all Kentucky was their hunting ground, 
and when they were compelled to rely, under Provi- 
dence, on themselves to escape the perils of the wild 
beast, or what they dreaded far more, the cruel and 
powerful savage, in whose very home they had estab- 
lished their cabin. 

The union and affection of these fraternal pioneers 
were cemented by their endurance of a thousand 
common dangers. For Squire, Boone had waited for 
months alone — completely alone — never doubting 
that if he could. Squire would find his way to him. 
It was Squire that, when Boone was pursuing that 
wonderful journey of solitary discovery, had braved 
the dangers and passed the mountain, and with con- 
summate sagacity, found, in that trackless forest, his 
brother; and in fight and hunt, he had been with 
him. "When the siege was on, Squire was of the brave 
men who dared to meet the treacherous Indian in his 
pretended council. And now that Boone, with prop- 
erty gone and with character assailed, had returned 
to frontier life, it seems quite probable that he sought 
this expedition with Squire, that there might be full 
and free converse of all that had passed. There was 
at least one man who never had deserted him, what- 



SQUIRE BCONE KILLED. 253 

ever might be tlie peril. They reached the Bhie 
Licks in safety, and were on their return. Certainly, 
l^oone was a man of extraordinary nerve, or he could 
not have sought again the scene where his capture 
had taken place, every feature of which must have 
been associated with some fearful recollection. And 
the danger was not fancied. He soon had occasion 
to know that the destinies of the Blue Licks were fa- 
tal to him. They were but two. The Indians dis- 
covered them, and they were fired upon by a party 
who were in ambuscade. If the Indians had known 
them, they would not have dared, unless with vast 
disparity of numbers, to have met them in open field. 
The fire of the- savage was fatal to Squire ; and he 
who had braved successfully all the horrors of the 
solitary journey — of the siege and of all forms of 
Indian peril — found his end in this sad journey. He 
met the fate which is written in the family annals of 
almost every pioneer. Scalped, and probably disfig- 
ured, Boone must leave hirp, for if he hesitated, the 
same or a worse fate awaited him. 

Boone soon had reason to know that the Tndian was 
his bitter foe. They soon turned from the dead to the 
living, and were in full chase after him ; and this 
time they added to their usual pursuit the keenness 
and ferocity of the dog. He was pursued as if he had 
been a wild beast; but the Pioneer was not dismayed, 
either by savage or dog For three miles, the chaso 



JgHI: LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

kept on. Probably lie soon left the Indians behind, 
Tliey may have lost their time in wreaking their 
wretched vengeance on his brother's 'corpse. Tho 
dog kept on. When he had gone the distance men- 
tioned, Boone, by the aid of his unerring rifle, stopped 
the farther progress of the dog, and completed, in 
safety, another of his wonderful escapes ; bearing, as 
the Indians must have thought, if they knew who it 
w^as that they were after, a charmed life. The settle- 
ments must have been much more numerous than be- 
fore, or the pursuit would have been continued, since 
it was a long distance between the Licks and the 
fort. 

That was a sad hour when he returned alone to 
the fort. It was to tell the tidings of this new and 
bitter calamity. Squire Boone was a fitting compan- 
ion to his brother. He seems to have been like him. 
He was the man on whom he had relied, and whose 
energetic companionship was always of intense value. 

Boone felt this sorrow exceedingly, and following, 
as it did, his losses, this period was a dark hour in the 
Pioneer's history. Squire bore the name of his father. 
He was the youngest boy, and the youngest child but 
one. In the greater fame and longer career uf his 
brother, his name has been overlooked ; but Kentucky 
may well enroll him among its fathers. Had he done 
no other deed than that of performing, almost alone, 
the memorable journey through the Indian wilder- 



A SEVERE WINTER. 255 

ness, in search of the brother he loved, it would have 
made his name memorable. 

Now came on the dread winter of 1780 — memora- 
ble in our history for its severity. It was that famous 
winter in which even the Bay of New York yielded 
to the frost, and artillery rolled over the solid cover- 
ing. It was the period concerning which, even yet, 
very old men tell us wonderful relations of its expe- 
riences. The settler felt it, in one respect, a benefit, 
for the savage was kept within his forests by it, and 
the frozen earth was unstained by blood. In every 
ether respect, the frontier people suffered. Boone 
says : " The severity of the winter caused great diffi- 
culties in Kentucky. The enemy had destroyed most 
of the corn the summer before. This necessary article 
was scarce and dear, and the inhabitants lived chiefly 
on the flesh of buffalo. The circumstances of many 
were very lamentable; however, being a hardy -race 
of people, and accustomed to difficulties and neces- 
sities, they were wonderfully supported through all 
their sufteriugs." 

In this scene of trouble, the frontier had abundant 
companions — for all over our country, the severity 
of that season added to the distress which was conse- 
quent upon the war. The American troops were re- 
duced to the saddest privations. The winter of 1780 
may have been equaled or exceeded in its thermome- 
trical characteristics, but the cold never else came at a 



256 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

time when it so completely accumulated its strength 
in connection with other ills. 

Boone felt that the Indians had struck a blow at 
BoonesborougTi, in causing the death of his beloved 
brother, greater than the savage could have hoped, 
and that winter must have been to him one of the 
most melancholy periods of his life ; nor is it likely 
but that he looked to the Blue Licks with the most 
painful association, since he had hitherto only visited 
it to write disaster and mourning upon his life. And 
yet, how terrible was the after history of that local- 
ity ! Certainly, to Boone, it was the gloom of hid 
life. 

In his diary, Boone makes no mention of a circum- 
Btance which, in the minds of most men, would have 
been so prominent that it would have been of first 
record. Virginia had wisely concluded to extend its 
jurisdiction over its western lands, and had deter- 
mined its division into three counties — Fayette, Lin- 
coln and Jefferson — neither of the individuals whose 
names were thus bestowed, having been identified 
with the settlement of the country. Virginia passed 
by the honored names of Boone, and Finley, and 
Henderson, and Clarke, who had done so much to- 
wards making this vast dv^main available for the pur- 
poses of civilization. It was a trait of the policy 
which soon prepared the way for the separation and 
independency of Kentucky. To each county was a*- 



THE COURT OF COMMISSIONERS. 257 

signed a military organization, and Daniel Boone was 
made lieutenant colonel of Lincoln county. Pro- 
motion is not always won by services as gallant as 
his were. He had a noble-hearted general — Clarke 
— and the frontier could look around on its soldiery, 
and feel that it might bear comparison with that of 
any part of the country. Such warriors as Boone, 
and Kenton, and Harrod, deserve the fame which 
has so justly fallen to Marion and Morgan. 

The famous Court of Commissioners in relation to 
land titles, ended its session on the twenty -sixth of 
April, 1780. It had been in session seven months, 
and had granted three thousand claims — an extent 
of industry to which modern commissions furnish no 
parallel. It had passed part of its official existence 
in the fort at Boonesborough — that being the scene 
of all that was interesting in that region, in peace or 
war. Yery many of those who profited by their la- 
bors, and secured titles, were actuated by the desire 
which was expressed by Col. Thomas Marshall, who 
distinguishing himself at the head of the third Vir- 
ginia Regiment, at Brandywine and Germailtown, 
declared his object before the commissioners to be " to 
locate land warrants, as a provision for a numerous 
family, which he intended to remove to the countiy 
on the restoration of peace. " 

The emigration in this year was very great. Three 

hundred large boats arrived in the spring of 1780, at 

17- 



258 ****LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

the Falls, whrse occupants hoped, in the land of fer- 
tility, to lay np a better provision than their oldei 
habitations fliraished. The winter, in its intensity, 
was a fearful admonition to be protected against long 
months of privation. 

Virginia honored herself by laying plans to " dif- 
fuse knowledge among her remote citizens — whose 
situation in a barbarous neighborhood and a savage 
intercourse might otherwise render unfriendly to 
science." These fostering efforts established a litera- 
ry institution for Kentucky, which. Gov. Morehead 
says, " in the progress of sixty years, filled her as- 
semblies with law-givers — her cabinets with states- 
men — her judicial tribunals with ministers of justice 
— her pulpits with divines — and crowded the pro- 
fessional ranks at home and abroad with ornaments 
and benefactors of their country." 

That winter of 1780 deserves more than brief re 
cord. It was a sorrow laid across the path of the 
revolutionary struggle. To this frontier, with the 
imperfect buildings, it was, indeed, a period of deso- 
lation. " From the middle of November to the middle 
of February, snow and ice continued on the ground 
without a thaw. Many of the cattle perished, and 
numbers of bears, buffalo, deer, wolves, beavers, otters 
and wild turkeys, were found frozen to death. Some- 
times the famished wild animals would come up in 
the yards of the stations along with the tame cattle 



SUFFERINGS OF THE SETTLEES. 259 

irrncii 'A' as the scarcity of food that a single '' jonny- 
cake ' would be divided into a dozen parts, and dis- 
tributed around to the inmates to serve for two meals. 
Even this resource failed, and for weeks they had no- 
thing to live on but wild game. Sixty dollars (Con- 
tinental) a bushel were given for corn." It is fortu- 
nate for mankind that only in a long interval of years 
does such intense cold seem necessary to preserve 
the great equilibrium of the^tmosphere. Though it 
is three score years and ten since the winter of " '80" 
occurred, its recollections are even yet often renewed 
■ — and with the eclipse of 1804, it furnishes an era 
by which uneducated old men measure their days. 

The Indian forbore any organized attack upon 
Boonesborough, but it was yet unsafe to venture 
about without the utmost care and precaution. The 
savage now ceased to molest with murderous intent. 
Near the fort, about a mile above, but in the same 
valley of the river, there dwelt some orderly, respect- 
able people, and the men were good soldiers. They 
had emigrated, like Boone's family, from Pennsylva- 
nia, leaving the quiet of that pacific State to find 
themselves surrounded by the worst of foes. Such 
men paid most bitterly for their desire to acquire ex- 
tensive territory. 

But notwithstanding all this, the settlement of the 
country went on. The land was too good to be given 
up to the Indians ; and while the attacks of the latter 



260 LIFE OF DAI^IEL BOONE. 

made men desperate, it only gave them greater de- 
termination, that their children should enjoy in peace, 
that for which they periled their lives every hour. 
The settlers took possession, whenever it was practi- 
cable, of their lots, and the surveyor moved about 
from place to place, leaving the record of his valua- 
ble science in inscriptions upon trees, which have 
long since been so changed, where the axe has not 
removed them entirely, that they are studied like an 
ancient inscription. 

The profession of a surveyor in this country re- 
ceived unfading honor by its having been, at one pe- 
riod of his life, that of George Washington, and it is 
of proof that the surveyors in Kentucky might claim 
this illustrious man as one of their predecessors. He 
made for John Fry two surveys, and in complete con- 
sistency with that wonderful precision and method in 
business which so distinguished him, every corner waa 
found well marked. On the beginning corner he cut 
the initials of his name. By such writing on the 
forest Kentucky holds the pleasant remembrance 
that the Father of his Country was once within her 
limits. 

In 1781, one of the earliest children of Kentucky 
— Richard M. Johnson was born — who afterwards 
rose to the high honor of the Yice-Presidency of 
the United States. His father was of those who 
took an active and prominent part in the sangui- 



THE INDIANS GROW BOLDER. 261 

nary conflicts which raged between the settlers and 
the savages, in the early history. 

Boone, in 1781, remained in Boonesborongh. He 
had seen it placed upon a secure tenure ; at least as 
safe as any place could possess in a scene of constant 
border warfare. The land, settling as its pleasant 
acres were, had only arrived even at this degree of 
safety by a succession of bloody struggles. He says, 
in his narrative, that when Col. Henderson secured 
the deed of cession from the Indians, in which Boone 
acted a part so prominent, and which enabled Hen- 
derson to originate the State of Transylvania, an old 
Indian took him (Boone) by the hand, and said : 
"Brother, we have given you a line land, but I be- 
lieve you will have some trouble in settling it." The 
Indian's prophecy had written its truth in letters of 
blood. To Boone, the prediction was fatalty forcible, 
and with a strength of expression which even Filson's 
secretaryship could not spoil, Boone says, " My foot- 
steps have often been marked with blood." 

Towards the spring of 1782, the Indians became 
bolder, and Boone heard that .n May of that year, 
a neighboring station was assaulted, and a prisonei 
taken. The marauders were pursued by Captain 
Ashton, but the Indians were superior in force, and 
Ashton and eleven of his party were killed — a ter- 
rible loss out of the twenty-five men of whom the ex- 
pedition was composed. Such a result of a contest 



S^ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

with the settlers, waked up anew the determination 
of the Indians to make the frontier men pay most 
dearly for their occupancy of their old and favorite 
hunting ground. 

It is now a time in which the question may be ex* 
amined, whether the British government did not 
write a fearful disgrace in its annals, by the manner 
in which it allowed its officers to excite the savage to 
deeds of the most dreadful cruelty. All is not fair in 
war ; and even in the contests of nations, there is a 
limit beyond which the brave encounter of honorable 
men, each believing his quarrel just, is changed into 
the ferocious wickedness of demons. The premium 
offered for scalps was horrible. It gave the Indian, 
in his terrific barbarity, the strange encouragement 
of a great and civilized nation. These cruelties were 
emulated "^y the British soldier. Mavor, one of the 
most prejudiced and partial of monarchical historians 
— fitting to share the partisan reputation of Alison — 
relates an instance occurring about this period, in a 
remote part of the country. " A large body of Brit- 
ish troops burnt a considerable part of the village of 
Connecticut Farms. In the neighborhood lived Mr. 
Caldwell, an eminent Presbyterian clergyman, whose 
exertions in defence of his country had rendered him 
particularly obnoxious to the British. Mrs. Caldwell, 
seeing the enemy advancing, retired with her house- 
keeper, a child three years old, an infant of eight 



BRITISH AND INDIAN BARBARirY. 263 

months, and a little maid, to a room secured on all 
sides bj stone walls, except at a window opposite the 
enemy. Unsuspicious of danger, while she was sit- 
ting on the bed, holding one child by the hand, and 
with her infant, a soldier shot her dead, who had evi- 
dently come to the unguarded part of the house, with 
a design to perpetrate the horrid deed." When the 
agents of the British government leagued themselves 
at all with the Indians, they committed a fearful er- 
ror, but when, after establishing a control over them, 
which they must have had, as they furnished them 
with arms and ammunition, they allowed them to 
torture their prisoners in their presence, it gave to 
the war a horrible ferocity, and the vengeance that 
men put forth, fell chiefly on the savages. 

Emphatic were Jefferson's words. " He (George 
the Third) has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants 
of our frontiers the merciless Indian savages, whose 
known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruc- 
tion of all ages, sexes and conditions ; " and he must 
have alluded to this when he speaks of the Revolu- 
tion as "begun with circumstances of cruelty and 
perfidy, scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, 
and totally unworthy the head of a civilized nation." 
Jefferson was of those who had been consulted, when 
Gen. Clarke submitted to the Governor of Virginia 
his plan for the protection of the frontier, and it ia 
\uite probable that Clarke portrayed to Patrick Hen- 



264 LIFE OF DAi^lEL BOONE. 

ry and to Thomas Jefferson what Boone had expon 
enced, and what testimony Boone had borne to the per- 
fidious character of the Indian ; for of all those whose 
evidence had reached Clarke, the information of none 
nad been more accurate than that derived from the 
great Pioneer. 

The memory of the cruelties sanctioned by the 
British government, was one great reason why there 
remained — and it is not yet entirely obliterated — • 
so long such bitterness of feeling on the part of our 
people against the English. Tlie fair open fight in 
battle, with the British soldier, was an honorable 
warfare, but the savage gave a depth of horror to the 
war, which had its illustration in some tradition of 
horror, even yet to be traced in many of those whose 
fathers found children butchered and house burnt by 
the wild red man. 

In the country north-west of the Ohio, a vile rene- 
gade by the name of Girty, not merely sustained but 
encouraged the Indian in all his cruelty. He w^as a 
Tory, and one of the very bitterest of the foes of the 
white man. His life was one scene of wretched bar- 
barities, except that on one occasion, he saved, by a 
caprice of humanity, the life of the adventurous 
Kenton. 

Mr. Peck describes him as " an Indian by adoption, 
imbibing their ferocious and blood-thirsty temper — 
having acquired their habits, and inflaming their pas- 



THE RENEGADE GIRTY. 265 

gions to madness by liis speeches, and goading them 
to vengeance ; and who delighted in all the refine- 
ment of Indian torture," Such a man was counte 
nanced by the British government, as he professed al- 
legiance to them. By his conduct he compromised, 
every hour, his employers, and caused the war of the 
Revolution to put on features of horror that, with all 
its evil, do not belong to the struggles of civilized na- 
tions. Nor was he alone ; a man whose education 
was probabl}^ much better, was his principal, and ob- 
tained a great influence over the Indians. This was 
Ool. Mc Kee. He was avowedly an official agent of 
the British* government. His deeds are attested by 
the most reliable witnesses. Exciting to murder and 
torture, he set in motion a train of influences which 
soon became so wide-spread that even he could not 
control them. 

Great Britain, it is almost certain, would not again 
pursue such policy. The world has grown better and 
would not tolerate such conduct in a State. Her 
Indian allies in the Eevolution did her no good. The 
temporary success they gained, followed by all its 
bitter results of cruelty, only gave new force and 
strength to those who had been vanquished. The In- 
dian was prompt to fly, and leave Jiis allies in the 
field, to struggle as best they might. The savage 
fought by impulse. If he could strike the blow at 

once, he gave all his energies to it, but the cool and 
L 



S66 LIFE CF DANIEL BOONE. 

collected defence was always powerful against liim. 
Far better would it have been for our common hu- 
manity, if the Indian had been set aside in the con- 
flict, as one with whom no alliance, by either of the 
parties to the controversy, could be made.« It would 
have spared us many a fearful legend. 

Encouraged by the whites, the Indians kept the 
settlements around Boonesborough in a state of con- 
stant alarm. The stations were continually infested 
with savages, and men were killed, and horses stolen 
at every opportunity. Again the settlers met with a 
reverse. A party headed by Capt. Ilolden was de- 
feated, and out of his seventeen men, four*\vere killed. 
Sometimes the savage felt keenly the blow of the set- 
tler. Boone relates that near Lexington an Indian 
shot a man, and running to scalp him, was himself 
shot from the fort, and fell dead upon his enemy. 
Why he selects this incident to relate, is not appa- 
rent. If it had been at Boonesborouo-li, it mi^ht" 
have been only the record of the unerring aim of his 
rifle. 

Again there was a gathering at old Cliillicothe — 
that same place which had witnessed the councils and 
meetings which led to the siege of Boonesborough. 
Instigated by th^ authorities at Detroit, and by the 
agents scattered about in their country, the Shawa- 
nese, Cherokees, Wyandots, Tawas, and Delawares, 
united for another grand demonstration against the 



ANOTHER INDIAN CONFJliDEKAOT. 267 

Bettlements. He who led the fight at Boonesborongh, 
and who had there made such efforts to get possession 
of his adopted son, — we refer to Blackfish — had 
some time since been killed in Bowman's exj^edition 
against Chillicothe. He had borne himself gallantly, 
and was engaged in following the retreat wdien he 
was destroyed. Boone did not feel much regret at 
the loss. The severe education which he had received 
to qualify him to take the place of Blackfish's son, 
who had been killed in battle, did not endear the re- 
lationship to him. It is quite likely that had Black- 
fish caught Boone, no ties of adoption w^ould have 
prevented him from presiding at his torture. 

Imlay, writing about 1793, thus locates the Indians 
who made this confederated campaign : "The Shaw- 
anese in five towns on the Great or Little Miami ; 
Cherokees on the Tennessee River ; Wyandots on tho 
Sandusky River ; Taw^as, eighteen miles up the Mau- 
mee River ; Delawares on the Muskingum River." 
It is of these people that the historian says, " they 
are of a very gentle and amiable (!) disposition to 
those they think their friends, but as implacable in 
their enmity — their revenge being only completed 
in the entire destruction of their enemies." Of the 
former trait, if Mr. Imlay 's observations were cor- 
rect, the settlers saw but little, while they had the 
most ample reason to know the full truth of the 
latter. 



268 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

At old Chillicothe these tribes assembled their 
choicest warriors. This Lidian village was built in 
the form of a Kentucky station, that is, parallelogram 
or long square, and some of the houses were shingled. 
A long council-house extended the whole length of 
the town, where the chiefs met in consultation. The 
Indian was not always as artistical in his abode. 
Some of his huts were built by setting up a frame on 
forks and placing bark upon it. Some were of reeds, 
and surrounded with clay. The fire was in the mid 
die of the wigwam, and the smoke passed through a 
little hole. Their tables and beds were of reeds 
joined together by cords run through them. The 
skins of the wild beasts they took in hunting were 
used for clothing. They had taken European habits 
enough to use brass kettles and pots for cooking their 
food ; while their pails, cups, and dishes, were, as 
those of their fathers may have been for ages, of 
gourds and calabashes. The Indian, in all this, had 
traits kindred to all other wild men, such as the Arab 
and the Esquimaux. 

Boone says the expedition was got up to destroy 
the settlers and to depopulate the country ; and he 
properly characterizes it, as in it the utmost force and 
vengeance of the Indian was concentrated. They 
hoped to crush the settlement at a blow. The set- 
tlers, as they came in, in boat and by horse, seemed 
about to render all subjugation of the country hope- 



ME. ^EYANT KILLED. 269 

less. If anything could be done to bring back to 
them their old hunting ground, it was necessary to do 
it at once. Indians have no provident care, and their 
hunting ground must be large. It must extend over 
a great space, for they could not economize their ef- 
forts. Mc Clung thinks that the settlers were igno- 
rant of the storm that was impending ; but it does 
not seem probable that such experienced and saga- 
cious men as Boone and those with whom he had 
been longest in company, should at any time be un- 
prepared for the Indian. He knew their cunning, 
and could gather by the manner in which their j)re- 
liminary warfare was conducted whether they were 
in great force or not. The appearance of men of 
different tribes, or the absence of certain chieftains, 
would give indication of what was transpiring at 
Chillicothe. 

There was a station not far from Boonesborough, 
which was called Bryant's, from the first settler. Its 
date was as early as 1779, and its founder, William 
Bryant, had married Boone's sister. This man fell in 
an attack made by a wandering party of Indians on 
the twentieth of May. By a want of concerted ac- 
tion between two parties of the settlers, one of which 
was led by Bryant, the latter was drawn into an am- 
buscade, and was fatally wounded. A slight occur- 
rence led to this sad issue. The associate party had 
been surprised by Indians, and had abandoned to 



270 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



them a led horse, on which a bell was hung. Not 
knowing this, Bryant rode to where he heard the bell, 
and was killed. Thus was added to the list of the 
kindred of Boone who fell by the warfare of the sav 
age, another ; and thus another affliction followed up- 
on the sad loss of his beloved brother. It was to bo 
but one in a series of personal griefe. 




CHAPTER XY. 

THE ATTACK ON BHYANt's STATION THE RETREAT OF THE INDIANS RAL' 

LT OF THE SETTLERS THE COUNCIL THE PURSUIT THE AMBUSCADB 

CATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS TERRIBLE SLAUGHTER AND RETREAT OK 

THE SETTLERS ANOTHER OF BOONe's SONS SLAIN TODD, TRIGG, HAR- 
LAN, AND SIXTY-SEVEN OTHERS SLAIN BOONe's ACCOUNT A THRILLING 

INCIDENT BOONe's REPORT OF THE BATTLE COL. THOMAS MABSHAIi 

AND GIRTY's BROTHER. 

Bryant's station soon heard the noise of the war- 
rior again. If Boone's sister remained there, she 
must have felt that war was pursuing her. It is pro- 
bable, however, that she sought, after her husband's 
death, the protection of her brother and the society 
of his family. 

On the fifteenth of August a party of Indians and 
Canadians, of five iiundred, led by Girty who added 
tlie vigor of purpose and reflection of th white man 
to the savage cruelty of the Indian, appeared before 
Bryant's station ; and after a very warna fight, in 
which Girty was wounded, and in which the Indians 
were admirably drawn into an ambuscade, the siege 
was raised. The Indians sufi*ered severely, having 
thirty killed, while the garrison lost but four. Girty 
endeavored to alarm the garrison by assuring them 



272 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE, 

that he had a reinforcement near, with whom was 
artillery. This caused a dread, for the settlers feared 
nothing so much as the cannon. His talk was treated 
with contempt. He was told by a young man named 
Keynolds, that he was known ; that he (Keynolds) 
had a worthless dog to whom he had given the name 
of Simon Girty, from the gi*eat resemblance ! Girty 
professed to be about to destroy the garrison, but it 
•was a feint. He suddenly left, and inviting pursuit 
by blazing the trees with their tomahawks as they 
progressed, he and his confederate, Mc Kee, departed 
by the buffalo trace for the Blue Licks. 

Boone now appears in the field again. Tlie news 
of the attack by Girty, flew with all the speed the 
express messenger (of those days) could give it. 
Boonesborough immediately sent out its warriors. 
Some had been sent in order to reach the fort to be 
present at the sieg-e. 

By the exertions of the colonel of the Lincoln regi- 
ment, Col. Todd, Boone, Col. Trigg, and Maj. Har- 
lan — the troops from ILarrodsburgh, Lexington and 
B-oonesborough rapidly assembled at Bryant's station. 
Boone was accompanied by his son, Israel, and his 
brother, Samuel. 

The exigencies of the occasion demanded a council 
of war ; for, as the immediate occasion of the rally 
had passed away, in the retreat of the savages, the 
next step to be taken was seriously important. Among 



A 'council of war. 273 

the officers were Harlan, McGary, McBrlde, and 
Levi Todd. 

Maj. Harlan was a soldier to whom this high praise 
was given, that Gen. Clarke said of him that " he was 
one of the bravest and most accomplished soldiers 
that ever fonght by his side." In 1778. he built a 
stockade on Salt Kiver, to which his name was given. 
He was of superb appearance, and in the commence- 
ment of the prime of life. Familiar, by having long 
acted the perilous part of a spy among the Indians, 
with all Indian warfare, lie was invaluable to the 
gathering forces. 

Hugh McGary had been one of the earliest settlers 
of Harrodsburgh, a spot which has disputed the palm 
of precedence, in the settlement of Kentucky, with 
Boonesborough. McGary is described by Collins as 
ardent, impetuous and rash, but a man of daring 
courage, indomitable energy and untiring perseve- 
rance. He brought into the country forty horses, but 
was singularly unsuccessful with them, nearly every 
one of them being stolen by the Indians. Living as 
he did so long in the society of James Harrod, who 
built the first log cabin in Kentucky, he needed to be 
active, for that brave man was surpassed by none of 
the settlers. in boldness and rapid action. Even when 
the storm of war was over, and when the land was 
quiet, he preferred the stirring chase to all other pnr- 
Buits, and at last died a hunter's death, in the wilder* 
L* 18 



274 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ness. McGarj had ample occasion in such company 
for the exercise of all his zeal. 

Levi Todd bad made his settlements early in the 
country^ and became, in after life, distinguished 
among the early settlers. The command was taken 
by Col. Todd. Of this gentleman the historians speak 
in high eulogy. He had, in the famous severe win- 
ter of 1780, manifested his disposition to kindness in 
an incident which is of interest. The provisions of 
-the fort at Lexington became exhausted, and when 
the Colonel returned home one night, with his favor- 
ite body servant, George, a piece of bread about two 
inches square and a gill of milk were all that his wife 
could offer him. He turned the proffer aside, and 
insisted that George should have it. He had been a 
representative in the Virginia Legislature of the Ken- 
tucky district. His visit to Kentucky was owing to 
the description given of its value and fertility by 
Boone. He then joined Henderson's party, and after 
that claim broke up, went into the immediate service 
of Yirginia. 

Col. Trigg was also an officer in this force. He 
had come in as a member of the famous Land Com- 
mission, and the exhibit which he heard and saw on 
every side of the riches of the land, induced him to 
remain. He was noted for his activity, among the 
Indians. His memory is preserved as among the 
noblest of the pioneers. 



rflS DELIBEEATIONS. 275 

The fight of the day before, had stirred up the blood 
of the settlers. The fact that McKee and Girty were 
with a body of Indians so numerous and powerful, 
showed that a bold blow was determined upon, as in- 
deed it was quite likely, was anticipated by Boone. 
The Indians led by the whites, were more dangerous 
than w^hen trusting to Indian tactics alone. The 
threat of artillery had not been overlooked. While 
it might be but the bravado of Girty, as the Indians 
were in full alliance with the British, if the latter 
could /urnish the savages with so powerful an arm of 
attack, there would be no scruple about it. It would 
be a great movement for the royalists, to break up 
this new country in the midst of the war. 

In determining what was to be done, it was a se- 
rious point in consideration that the force of Colonel 
Logan had not arrived. The character of Col. Logan 
was so well established in bravery, that it was not for 
one moment doubted but that the instant he had 
heard the alarm he had prepared to join the warriors. 
Col. Logan was a Yirginian — by bravery and chiv- 
alry a fit representation of the cavaliers. He had, in 
the colonial service, prepared himself in the duties of 
a soldier, and when he came to Kentucky, which he 
did in the famous year, 1776, he was one of those who 
most successfully dared the fearful perils of the woods, 
and he experienced them to a terrible degree. His 
little station was in one series of wild alarms, and the 



2'j^^ LIFE OF DAKIEL BOOWE, 

Indian seemed never wearied of endeavors to cut 

him off. 

Everything was in haste. The Indians were to be 
pursued — that was certain. Bnt it was equally cer- 
tain to those who united good judgment with their 
zeal, that it would be far better to await the coming 
of Logan, so that the blow struck might be a sure one. 
In this opinion Boone was, and he avowed it. Kow, 
of all men gathered there, it was to Boone that a sa- 
gacious leader would have looked for information. It 
was at and near the Blue Licks that Boone hadJiunt- 
ed, and watched, and traversed, till all its holds and 
fastnesses were known to him. Boone had conquered 
the Indians; had been their cap^ve and their master, 
and his coolness and courage had never deserted him. 
There were none, however, of the council of war, who 
insisted upon going forward at once. A relative of 
Boone stated to Mr. Peck — and the fact was proba- 
bly obtained from the Pioneer — that the officer in 
command. Col. Todd, had estimated that Boone's pru- 
dential counsels were those of cowardice ; and if the 
arrival of Logan was waited for, Logan would gain 
all the glory of the pursuit. 

There are, in every part of the world, those found 
who seek by artful reports to create dissension and 
unhappiness among those associated in any high or 
honorable pui-pose ; and it is quite probable that some 
tale-bearer invented this story, perverting the words 



DISAGREEMENT AMONG THE OEFlCEHS. f^TT 

of Col. Todd, and conveying the colored statement to 
Boone. Brave men do not doubt brave men. Col. 
Todd had, for too many years, known the noble zeal 
and determined bravery of the Pioneer — who never 
stood back from danger of beast or man — to doubt 
him then. 

A gentleman who, from his age, may be supposed 
to have known by the account of the day the facts in 
the case, informs Collins that he utterly discredits the 
statement that Todd was disposed to hurry the action, 
in any fear of Logan's acquisition of fame by beino- 
the leader, and this would seem most in consonancv^ 
with the true bravery of an old warrior like Todd. 

In the noise and excitement of a siege, men do not 
make accurate account of their foes. The duty of 
the present instant is all that mind or sense knows. 
Girty's boast that his troops far outnumbered the set- 
tlers was forgotten or despised, in their hatred of him, 
but these frontier men could not overlook the fact of 
his blazing his way as he retreated. This seemed 
like a willingness to be pursued, which the Indian 
leaders never would have manifested, if they had not 
been proud in their numbers, for no men were more 
cautious of exposing themselves than were the In- 
dians. Every sign reported by the spies taught 
Boone that this was an hour of danger, and that pru- 
dence and caution are w^orth a victory. He knew by 
his own success against the savage, how much is gain- 



.278 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ed in war by being brave enough to wa.... His true 
soldier mind recognized the same great principle 
which taught Wellington to win Waterloo by endu- 
rance. He was asked his judgment, and \,e gave it. 
According to McClung, he told them of the make of 
the country, and his belief tliat an ambuscade was in- 
tended, for he knew that the Indian relies on nothing 
so much as seizing his enemy at a disadvantage. 

In our own day, the surprise of the gallant Major 
Dade, by the Seminoles, was in the same strategy. 
There the ambuscade was entirely successful. The 
Indian does not change. A decaying race have little 
inducement to learn new arts in peace or war. Boone 
had a solemn destiny connected with this locality. It 
had been to him a point of the utmost sorrow and 
peril, and if the incidents of a locality could be forci- 
bly imprinted on the mind, these must have been. 
In his account of the battle, Boone observes that he 
was ignorant of the numbers of the foe. Had his 
plan of sending out men to learn all this, been pur- 
sued, the settlers would have neither given or re- 
ceived a blow in the dark. Had volunteers been 
called for to undertake the perilous duty of ascertain- 
ing who and where was the enemy, the experience 
of his life shows that he would have been among 
those who would have discharged such duty. 

While the council was deliberating, the rashness 
of one man ended the argument. McGary giving 



279 

the war-wlioop, in defiance of all discipline, uttered 
the stinging taunt that all who were not cowards 
should follow him. He would show where the In- 
dian was. At the time, such words seem those of 
bravery, but the courage that is sudden and ardent, 
is of the lesser and lower grade. The calm resolution 
and thorough action conbined, is the real heroism. 
Of course, as would be the case in a gathering of 
frontier-men with rifle in hand, a large part of the de- 
tachment followed the hasty McGary. Todd and 
Boone did not, and the fact that Todd remained with 
Boone would seem to indicate that the two were im- 
bued with each other's sentiments, and understood 
the value of deliberate action. 

The proposition to examine the country was again 
renewed, and the buffalo trace and its vicinity were, 
as the scouts supposed, thoroughly examined. There 
was here a remarkable bend of the Licking E-iver, 
and Boone knew how likely the ravines adjacent 
would be chosen as the place for the surprise to be 
concealed. 

He knew that the buffalo path would lead the ar- 
my between the places most likely to afford conceal- 
ment to the Indians, and when the scouts returned 
and reported the way to be clear, while it encouraged 
the impetuous, Boone could not be so easily satisfied. 
The whole affair looked suspicious, but he took his 
place in line of battle. The spies had reported that 



280 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

they could find no Indians, while in fact the grass by 
their side was quivering with their movements. 
They had gone behind the river hills on either side 
of the horse-shoe ; while a few of their number were 
concealed in the right-hand hollow. To Col. Todd, 
as belonged to his rank, the command of the centre 
was assigned, while Col. Trigg took the right, and 
the left was led by Boone. In full confidence that 
they were marching towards the Indians, but not 
among them, Trigg's men moved on. In the grass, 
with all the exultation of men who were sure of their 
foe, the Indians lay — rifles ready, and selecting their 
men. As the settlers came up, suddenly this fire 
broke out upon them. It was unexpected, and proved 
to all, in a moment, that they were in an ambuscade, 
and that their spies had been useless. Following up 
this first fire, the Indians on the right side poured in 
their discharge. The effect was most disastrous, for 
it gave the Indian the belief that his policy of a bold 
blow at the onset was to be successful. Todd and Harlan 
with their men, as Trigg's battalion broke, received 
the fire, and the loss was terrible. The four hundred 
warriors that were in the ravines, and in the woods, 
broke forth, like Roderick Dhu's men, and by the 
carnage of that moment Kentucky mourned for many 
a year. But tremendous as the attack was, it was 
met with the courage of warriors. Col. Todd re- 
mained on his horse, with the blood flowing from 



DEFEAT OF THE SETTLERS. 281 

mortal wounds. Boone defended liis position, and 
fought on with all the desperate energy that distin- 
guislied him, while Major Harlan could find but 
three of his men spared by the rifle. 

During all the frenzy of this fearful fifteen minutes, 
the Indians exhausted all their powers in every de- 
vice of horror. The yell was raised in all its hide- 
ousness, while the tomahawk flashed in every instant, 
in its cruel blows. 

" From the battle ground to the river the spectacle 
was terrible. The horsemen generally escaped, but 
the foot, particularly the men who had ventured far- 
thest within the wings of the net, were almost en- 
tirely destroyed. Col. Boone, after witnessing the 
death of his son and many of his dearest friends, found 
himself almost entirely surrounded at the very com- 
mencement of the retreat." 

Several hundred Indians were between him and 
the ford, to which the great mass of the fugitives were 
bending their flight. He, knowing the ground well, 
dashed into the ravine. Sustaining two or three 
heavy fires, and escaping pursuit, he crossed the 
ford by swimming, and as he knew the woods with 
consummate sagacity, succeeded in the escape. 

The troops and the Indians mingling in the river, 
the slaughter was terrible. The Indians, fierce with 
the belief that they were victors, used their moment 
of triumph with awful execution. 



5!S3 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

The courage and coolness of a Mr. l^etherland — a 
name since that time distinguished in Tennessee — 
arrested the slaughter, by taking a bold stand and 
rallying those who were in flight. The time thus 
gained gave opportunity for the pursued to get from 
the reach of the enemy. Mr. Ketherland had before 
this been accused of cowardice. The result proves 
that he had in him the courage of one who, in the 
hour of extreme danger, becomes- a rallying point to 
retrieve the battle. A young man by the name of 
Reynolds performed a deed for which Roman annals 
would have immortalized him. Releasing his chance 
of escape, he generously saved the life of Capt. Pat- 
terson, and himself became a captive, and then even 
from the Indian's grasp, rescued himself. Such pages 
are found in western history. 

The battle brought its peculiar blow to Boone. 
"While his own life a merciful Providence spared, he 
now found another son a victim to the forest peril, 
while his brother Samuel was severely wounded. 
The shot of the savage had been but too certain, 
to his son, and while using every effort to bear 
him off, the Pioneer found that the only duty be- 
fore him was to save himself. He left his son, con- 
scious that the cruelty of tlie Indian could only wreak 
vengeance on his corpse. He felt that he had every 
risk of capture himself. A bloody and exulting troop 
of savages, rejoicing in a terrible victory, was all 




K. ;^•^xVx ^->^ 



I300NE a FLlUlir Wllil liia DVINU SUN. 



2S3 

firound him, and the station was a long distance 
away. But he knew where every place of conceal- 
ment was, and he pressed on to be, if possible, in 
time to defend the settlements ; for he thought that 
the Indian would follow up the blow as rapidly and 
as boldly as possible. On his way with his son's 
body — bleeding and dying — he felt the Indians' 
vengeance, for a very large savage sprang towards 
him. Up gleamed the tomahawk ; but it was a pass- 
ing triumph, for the heroic man stopped, relinquished 
for a moment his grasp of his expiring son, and with 
his unerring rifle shot the Indian. They ventured 
into the lion's path who came across the purposes of 
Boone, in such circumstances. He felt the bitter an- 
guish of losing another son -r one, too, who had been 
fighting in the front when he fell — and remembering, 
as he did, that if his advice had been taken, and the 
wise and soldierlike course of awaiting the arrival of 
Col. Logan had been pursued, this terrible tragedy 
would not have been enacted. All this grieved him 
sadly, and during his long life its painful memories 
did not pass away. Thrice had the Blue Licks been 
to him a scene of the greatest peril and loss — his 
own life endangered, and that of those dearest to him 
suddenly and mournfully terminated. 

Boone describes the loss of the Americans as sixty- 
Beven, and Todd, Ti'igg and Harlan were of these. 
Assuredly, the last blow struck by the Indian for the 



284: LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

recovery of his hunting grounds, was a bloody one. 
It thrilled through Kentucky. The Indians enumer- 
ated their loss as exceeding that of the whites by four, 
and " therefore," Boone says, " four of the prisoners 
they had taken were, by general consent, ordered to 
be killed in a most barbarous manner by the young 
warriors, in order to train them up to cruelty, and 
then they proceeded to their towns." 

Such were the bitter results of the rashness of those 
who disregarded the advice of Boone. Most proba- 
ble is it, that of the general great fame of the Pio- 
neer for consummate knowledge of the Indian and 
the Indian country, they were jealous, and determin- 
ed to show him that they could conduct a warfare 
against the savages,, even against his j udgment. This 
battle of the Blue Licks would not have occupied 
such mournful pages in the history of Kentucky, if 
he had been the general in command, who had shown 
himself master of the Indian wherever he had met 
him. 

The modesty and the disinterestedness of the true 
soldier is seen in Boone's narrative. He gives no 
record to blame of tliose who pushed on the disastrous 
and rash movement, but laments and honors the brave 
men who took their bold part in tlie fight. 

Boone's escape from the Indians added another to 
the many extraordinary adventures which makes his 
history like the stories of the deeds of old chivalry. 



285 

Bti fbh i^ic -\}ver, after he knew that he had lost his 
&on, an<t wa3 separated from the troops ; but, know- 
ing all the pathgi, he pushed on, rising over his ca 
lamity and his regrets, and indicated his claim to 
greatness by turning aside from sucli sorrows to 
strike another blow for the living. His narrative 
details that — 

" On our retreat, we were met by Col. Logan, hastening 
to join us, with a number of well armed men. This power- 
ful assistance we unfortunately wanted in the battle ; for, 
notwithstanding the enemy's superiority of numbers, they 
acknowledged that, if they had received one more fire from 
us, they should undoubtedly have given way. So valiantly did 
our small party fight, that, to the memory of those who un- 
fortunately fell in the battle, enough honor cannot be paid. 
Had Col. Logan and his party been with us, it is highly 
probable we should have given the savages a total defeat. I 
cannot reflect upon this dreadful scene, but sorrow fills my 
heart. A zeal for the defence of their country led these he- 
roes to the scene of action, though with a few men to attack 
a powerful army of experienced warriors. When we gave 
way, they pursued us with the utmost eagerness, and in 
every quarter spread destruction. The river was difficult to 
cross, and many were killed in the flight, some just entering 
the river, some in the water, others after crossing, in ascend- 
ing the clitFs. Some escaped on horseback, a few on foot ; 
and, being dispersed everywhere in a few hours, brought the 
melancholy news of this unfortunate battle to Lexington. 
Many widows were now made. Sorrow, the reader may 
guess, filled the hearts of the inhabitants, exceeding anything 
I am able to describe. Being reinforced, we returned to 



Ml^ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

bury the dead, and found the bodies strewed everywhere, 
cut and mangled in a dreadful manner. This mournful scene 
exhibited a horror almost unparalleled. Some torn and 
eaten by wild beasts, those in the river eaten by fishes, all 
in such a putrified condition that no one could be distin- 
guished from another." 

In various traditions are preserved the incidents of 
tbis fatal day. It was utterly unexpected to the Ken- 
tuckians tbat any of the Indian expeditions, when 
called to contend against such officers as Todd, and 
Trigg, and Harlan, could result disastrously. To the 
different stations and forts, the news of that day 
brought orphanage and widowhood. The Indian had 
left his last fatal mark behind him. Judge Robert- 
son, in an address delivered at a place named in hon- 
or of one of Kentucky's braves — Gov. George Madi- 
son — relates the following incident, which is of ex- 
ceeding interest : 

" On the long roll of that day's reported slain, (the fatal 
battle of the Blue Licks,) were the names of a few who had 
in fact been captured, and, after surviving the ordeal of the 
gauntlet, had been permitted to live as captives. Among 
these an excellent husband and father, with eleven other 
captives, had been taken by a tribe, and painted black, as the 
signal of torture and death to all. The night after the bat- 
tle, these twelve prisoners were stripped and placed in a line 
on a log ; he to whom we have specially alluded, being at 
one extremity of the devoted row. The cruel captors then 
beginning at the other end, slaughtered eleven, one by oce. 



AFFECTING INCmENT. 287 

But when they came to the only survivor, though they raised 
aim up also, and drew their bloody knives to strike under each 
uplifted arm, they paused, and after a long powwow, spared his 
life — T why, he never knew. For about a year none of hi8 
friends, except his faithful wife, doubted his death. She, 
hoping against reason, still insisted that he lived, and would 
yet return to ner. Wooed by another, she, from time to 
time postponed the nuptials, declaring that she could not di- 
vest herself of the belief that her husband survived. Her 
expostulating friends finally succeeding in their efforts to 
stifle her affectionate instinct, she reluctantly yielded, and the 
nuptial day was fixed. But just before it dawned, the crack 
of a rifle was heard near her lonely cabin ; at the familiar 
sound she leaped out, like a liberated fawn, ejaculating, as 
she sprang, " That's John's gun ! " It was John's gun, sure 
enough, and in an instant she was once more in her lost hus- 
band's arms. But nine years afterwards that same husband 
fell in St. Clair's defeat, and the same disappointed, but per- 
severing lover, renewed his suit, and at last the widow be- 
came his wife." 



Boone, as the surviving officer in command of 
the county regiment, communicated an official report 
of the battle to Benjamin Harrison, Governor of Vir- 
ginia, and the father of the illustrious William Henry 
Harrison, to whose young years the stories of these 
frontier fights gave quick thought of daring in the 
same field. In many respects Harrison and Boone 
had kindred qualities. Both were of the class of men 
who held their place in public affairs when the war 
cry was most immediate and cruel. 



288 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

The report delineates, iu few words, the battle — • 
never uttering one word of Ids own services. Pass- 
ing from the description of the action, he vividly de- 
lineates the exposed condition of the country — its 
scattered and limited soldiery — and urges a strong 
reinforcement. He describes the danger as so press- 
ing upon the people, under the fearful influences of 
the recent disastrous fight. He says, *'I have en- 
couraged the people in this county all I could, but I 
can no longer justify them or myself in risking our 
lives here under such extraordinary hazards. If the 
Indians bring another campaign into the country this 
fall, it will break up the settlements." Boone spoke 
his own views in this, for he expressly says that he 
consulted no person. He dates his report from 
Boone's station, August 30th, 1782. To such extrem- 
ities was the frontier reduced, even at the period 
when, by great emigration, the country had seemed to 
be passing into the rest and security of the more east- 
erly towns. Tlie Indian knew the glory and riches 
of the country for which he was fighting such deadly 
battles, and crowded all his energies to retake it. 
Thus was Kentucky, in terrible truth, the Dark and 
Bloody Ground. 

"Boone's Station, Fayette Co., ) 
August SOih, 1782. i 

" Sir, — Present circumstances of affairs cause me to write 
to your excellency as follows; On the 16th instant, a large 



289 

number of Indians, with some white men, attacked one of 
our frontier stations, known by the name of Bryant's Station. 
The siege continued from about sunrise till about two o'clock 
the next day, when they marched off. Notice being given 
to the neighboring stations, we immediately raised one 
hundred and eighty-one horsemen, commanded by Colonel 
John Todd, including some of the Lincoln county militia, 
commanded by Colonel Trigg, and pursued about forty 
miles. 

" On the 19th instant, we discovered the enemy lying in 
wait for us. On this discovery, we formed one column into 
one single line, and marched up in their front, within about 
forty yards, before there was a gun fired. Col. Trigg com- 
manded on the right, myself on the left, Maj. McGary in the 
centre, and Maj. Harlan the advanced party in front. From 
the manner in which we had formed, it fell to my lot to 
bring on the attack. This was done with a very heavy fire 
on both sides, and extended back of the line to Col. Trigg, 
where the enemy was so strong they rushed up, and broke 
the right wing at the first fire. Thus the enemy got in 
our rear, with the loss of seventy-seven of our men, 
and twelve wounded. Afterwards, we were reinforced by 
Col. Logan, which made our force four hundred and sixty 
men. 

" We marched again to the battle ground; but, finding 
the enemy had gone, we proceeded to bury the dead. 

" We found forty-three on the ground, and many lay about, 
which we could not stay to find, hungry and weary as we 
were, and somewhat dubious that the enemy might not have 
gone off quite. By the sign, we thought that the Indians had 
exceeded four hundred ; while the whole of the militia of 
the county does not amount to more than one hundred and 
thirty. From these facts your excellency may form an idea 
M 19 



290 LIFE OF DANIEL BOC NE. 

of our situation. I know that your own circumstances are 
critical ; but are we to be wholly forgotten 1 I hope not. 
I trust about five hundred men may be sent to our assist- 
ance immediately. If these shall be stationed as our county 
lieutenants shall deem necessary, it may be the means of 
saving our part of the country : but if they are placed under 
the direction of Gen. Clarke, they will be of little or no ser- 
vice to our settlement. The Falls lie one hundred miles 
west of us, and the Indians north-east ; while our men are fre- 
quently called to protect them. I have encouraged the peo- 
ple in this county all that I could ; but I can no longer jus- 
tify them or myself to risk our lives here under such extra- 
ordinary hazards. The inhabitants of this county are very 
much alarmed at the thoughts of the Indians bringing an 
other campaign into our country this fall. If this should be 
the case, it will break up these settlements. I hope, there- 
fore, your excellency will take the matter into your consid- 
eration, and send us some relief as quick as possible. 

"These are my sentiments, without consulting any person. 
Col. Logan, will, I expect, immediately send you an express, 
by whom I humbly request your excellency's answer. In 
the meanwhile, I remain, &;c., 

"Daniel Boone." 

As early as 1T85, many families came down the 
Ohio River in boats, landed at Maysville, and con- 
tinued their route, to sucli parts of the country as 
pleased them. Col. Thomas Marshall, formerly com- 
mander of the third Yirginian regiment, in the Conti- 
nental establishment, subsequently colonel of tl)^ 
regiment of Yirginian artillery, embarked with a nu-^ 
merous family on board a flat-boat, and descended 



COL. MARSHALL AND GIKTy's BROTHER. 291 

the Ohio without any incident of note, until he passed 
the mouth of the Kenawha. There, about ten o'clock 
at night, he was hailed from the northern shore by a 
man who announced himself as James Girty, the 
brother of the notorious Simon Girty. The boat 
dropped slowly down within one hundred and fifty 
yards of the shore, and Girty making a corresponding 
movement on the beach ; and conference was kept 
up for several minutes. He began by mentioning 
his name, and enquiring that of the master of the 
boat. Having been satisfied upon this head, he as- 
sured him he knev/ him well, respected him highly, 
&c., &c., and concluded with some rather extraordi- 
nary remarks : " He had been posted there," he 
said, " by the order of his brother Simon, to warn 
all boats of the danger of permitting themselves to 
be decoyed ashore." The Indians had become jeal- 
ous of him, and he had lost that influence he former- 
ly held amongst them. He deeply regretted the in- 
jury he had inflicted upon his countrymen, and 
wished to be restored to their society, and in order 
to convince them of the sincerity of his regard, he 
had directed him to warn all b(^ats of the snares 
spread for them. Every efibrt would be made to 
draw passengers ashore. White men would appear 
►upon the bank ; and children would be heard to sup- 
plicate mercy. But," continued he, "do you keep 



292 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



the middle of the river, and steel your heart against 
any mournfal application you may receive." The 
colonel thanked him for his intelligence, and contin- 
ued his course. 




CHAPTER XYI. 

8ENERAL CLARKE HIS CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE INDIANS AT OLD CHILLI* 

COTHE NARRATIVE OF BOONe's ESCAPE FROM FOUR INDIANS — THE PA- 
PER CURRENCY COURTS OF LAW INSTITUTED BOONE ESTABLISHES 

HIMSELF ON A FARM THE RETURN OF PEACE — INCREASE OF EMIGRATION 

THE INDIANS THEIR LOVE FOR RUM THEIR PETITION — THE INDIANS 

AT THE PRESENT DAY. 

General Claeke, the greajt military leader of Ken- 
tucky, had been very anxious for some time previous 
to this, to organize an expedition against Detroit. 
Til at city was so much the head-quarters of the Brit- 
ish forces, and from thence issued so much of its 
power, that he was determined to take the post, if 
possible. He was quickened in his zeal by the ser- 
vice he had seen under Baron Steuben, when that 
sturdy old officer was counteracting the movements 
and machinations of the traitor Arnold. Promoted 
to the rank of brigadier general, he raised at the 
Falls of the Ohio a large force — about two thousand 
men — which, in the scattered condition of the popu- 
lation, was a great army. To his great chagrin his 
orders were changed, and he was ordered to remain 
there on the defensive, to guard the frontier ; though 
it appears by Boone's letter to Gov. Harrison, that he 



294 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

(Boone) doubted whetlier Clarke's forces were of any 
use to the settlements around Boonesborough, as his 
command was at the distance of one hundred miles. 

When the terrible news that the Indians had killed 
Col. Todd and destroyed a large number of the set- 
tlers at the Blue Lick, reached Gen. Clarke, he forgot 
his own despondency, and roused to vigorous action. 
A bold campaign against the Indians was immedi- 
ately determined upon, and it went forth, extermina- 
ting in its character, like that of Gen. Sullivan, in 
"New York, in the cause and features of which it was 
very similar ; for Sullivan's march of terror was taken 
because of the fatal affair at "Wyoming. The Indian 
only brought on himself a speedier and surer retribu- 
tion for his murderous attack. 

Boone ever speaks warmly of Gen. Clarke. In ref- 
erence to this expedition, he says, " he was ever our 
ready friend, and merits the love and gratitude of all 
our countrymen." 

^Of this expedition Boone was a part, and, it cannot 
be doubted, was a prominent counselor of the general, 
as the result of the battle of Blue Licks had demon- 
strated the propriety of hearing Boone's suggestions. 
The march was a very rapid one, and all the circum- 
Btances show that, learning from their recent severe 
experience, it was conducted with all the acute cau- 
tion and vigilance that the old Indian himters could 
devise. The Indians, rejoicing in their victory, push- 



CH1I.LICOTHE DESTKO^ED. 295 

tjd on to celebrate it at old Chillicothe. They were 
at home, and had proceeded in their division of the 
spoil and the captives. Clarke's army was within 
two miles, when two of the straggling Indians tliscov- 
ered them. There was a change in old Chillicothe 
in a few moments. These Indians rushed with all the 
rapidity they could achieve, to give warning of the 
avenging army. Chillicothe was deserted faster than 
ever before. Its glory of triumph was over, and wig- 
wams were silent which but the hour before had been 
full of exulting savages. It was a great sacrifice to 
them to leave their towns, but they knew who was 
behind them, and they escaped for life. The army 
destroyed the towns — reducing them to ashes ^— and 
desolated their country. The blow they struck was 
fatal and forcible. It was melancholy to know that, 
maddened by the desolation and destruction at the 
battle of the Blue Licks, some of the army followed 
the cruelty of the Indians, by scalping some of their 
captives. These occurrences are blots on the history, 
but it was almost impossible to restrain the men. 
The Chillicothe towns were all destroyed. Boone en- 
tered the scene of his captivity as a conqueror. This 
expedition ahirmed the savages, and disheartened 
them ; for it showed them that, even after such a dis- 
aster as was that of the Blue Licks, the white men 
rose up in renewed strength and increased numbers. 
As Boone says, it made them sensible of the superi- 



296 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE, 

ority of the wliites. It dissolved their dangerous con- 
nection with each other, and left them to scattered 
and roving border fights. 

In fliis campaign tlie Kentiickians secured the 
peace of their country. The disheartened Indian re- 
turned no more ; and Boone turned his attention from 
war to the arts of peace. The contest with Great 
Britain was so rapidly proclaiming its probable end, 
that the time seemed to have come for the quiet set- 
tlement of the beautiful and broad land to which 
Boone had led his countrymen. The emigration, en- 
couraged by the approaching quiet, rushed in in 
greater numbers, and land and land titles occupied 
the settlers' attention, and, in many cases, troubled 
him more than the rifle of the Indian. 

But the Indian was still more than troublesome -— 
lie was destructive. Though the power to organize 
an army was gone, the midnight assault, the alarm, 
the murder, were all companions of Kentucky life. 
One of his neighbors, and one who came into the 
country from listening to the glowing descriptions 
which Boone gave of the land, trusting too much to 
the defeat of the savages, and presuming upon a state 
of quiet, carelessly riding out near the fort, was killed 
and scalped by a party of Indians. Boone warmly 
pursued them, but their flight was a successful one. 
All these proceedings kept alive the fears of the set- 
tlers, and made the men of the frontier feel that there 



A NARROW ESCAPE, 297 

was no furniture in their house quite as necessary as 
the rifle. 

Boone was specially obnoxious to the Indians. 
They could not forget the bold manner in which he 
had twice made his escape, nor were they likely to 
forget that he had been one of the most efficient in 
the great chastisement which Gen. Clarke's expedi- 
tion inflicted. It became a plan of the Indian to take 
him, and he knew that he was never safe. Mr. Peck 
has obtained the following very interesting narrative 
of a thrilling adventure which Boone experienced: 

" On one occasion, four hidians came to the farm of Col. 
Boone, and nearly succeeded in taking him prisoner. The 
particulars are given, as they were narrated by Boone him- 
self, at the wedding of a granddaughter, a few months before 
his decease, and they furnish an illustration of his habitual 
self possession and tact with Indians. At a short distance 
from his cabin, he had raised a small patch of tobacco, to 
supply his neighbors, (for Boone never used the weed him- 
self,) the amount, perhaps, of one hundred and fifty hills. 

" As a shelter for curing it, he had built an enclosure of 
rails, a dozen feet in height, and covered it with cane and 
grass. Stalks of tobacco are usually split and strung on 
sticks about four feet in length. The end of these are laid 
on poles, placed across the tobacco-house, and in tiers, one 
above the other, to the roof. Boone had fixed his temporary 
shelter in such a manner as to have three tiers. He had 
covered the lower tier, and the tobacco had become dry, 
when he entered the shelter for the purpose of removing the 
sticks to the upper tier, preparatory to gathering the remain 
M* 



298 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

der of the crop. He had hoisted up the sticks from the lower 
to the second tier, and was standing on the poles that sup- 
ported it, while raising the sticks to the other tier, when four 
stout Indians, with guns, entered the low door, and called 
him by name. 'Now, Boone, we got you. You no get 
away more. We carry you off to Chillicothe this time. 
You no che^it us any more.' Boone looked down upon their 
upturned faces, saw their loaded guns pointed at his breast, 
and recognizing some of his old friends, the Shawanese, who 
had made him prisoner near the Blue Licks, in 17T8, coolly 
and pleasantly responded, ' Ah ! old friends, gtad to see 
you.' Perceiving that they manifested impatience to have 
him come down, he told them he was quite willing to go 
with them, and only begged they would wait where they 
were, and watch him closely until he could finish removing 
his tobacco. 

" While parleying with them, inquiring after old acquaint- 
ances, and proposing to give them his tobacco when cured, 
he diverted their attention from his purpose, until he had 
collected together a number of sticks of dry tobacco, and so 
turned them as to fall between the poles directly in their 
faces. At the same instant, he jumped upon them with as 
much of the dry tobacco as he could gather in his arms, fill- 
ing their mouths and eyes with its pungent dust, and blind- 
ing and disabling them from following him, rushed out and 
hastened to his cabin, where he had the means of defense. 
Notwithstanding the narrow escape, he could not resist the 
temptation, after retreating some fifteen or twenty yards, to 
look round and see the success of his achievement. The Li- 
dians, blinded and suffocated, were stretching out their 
hands and feelmg about in different directions, calling him by 
name, and cursing him fc>r a rogue, and themselves for fools.'* 



PROSPERITY OF THE SETTLERS. 299 

The arts and circumstances of civilized life now 
moulded society in Kentucky. The country where 
Boone had been alone was now teeming with indus- 
try. Labor was rewarded. Cattle, secure in great 
measure from pillage by the Indians, were multiplied. 
The rivers were made channels of transportation, 
and the West was recognized by the East as some- 
thing more than a place of savage or half-civilized 
frontier-men. 

Security and sustenance were the first objects of 
the settler, and they therefore deemed it best to live 
in what were called stations. These were log houses, 
connected, but with gateways which might be closed 
when the signal of danger was given. But in secu- 
ring a place for these stations, the sagacity of the 
American character did not omit to choose good land. 
It has been cited as a strange oversight on the part 
of those who constructed some of these stations, that 
the spring or water course with which the settlers 
were supplied, was left outside, so that it was at great 
personal risk, in a siege, that this indispensable ar- 
ticle was obtained. The space within shelter was to 
be large enough to guard the cattle and horses, wher 
pursuit became very close. Better and more peace- 
able times appearing, the stations were left, and sepa- 
rate and more detached log houses were built. Each 
neighbor and settler aided the other in the erection 
of such residence. Our whole country is not yet so 



300 LIFE OF DAITIEL BOONE. 

tenanted by the more durable order of building, but 
tliat in all quarters the idea of what a log house is, 
may be gathered from the inspection of a survivor, 
which in its strength still gives shelter to the family 
who patiently await the year when they shall be 
able to leave it for some more ambitious structure ; 
for the idea of remaining quiet and contented in any 
house, excepting such a one as compares with or ex- 
ceeds all rivals, is not an American one. ^ 
= There was money in the settlements, but much of 
it was of -the paper or Continental stamp, whose value 
was particularly dubious. It could not have been 
very precious when the county court fixed the follow- 
ing rates for the tariff of tavern-keeping, establishing 
a schedule of prices which if, as in these days, a dol- 
lar had signified the representative of a '' Spanish 
• milled," would far exceed even the highest charges 
of the most unconscientious city hotel-keeper. 

"The court doth set the following rates to be ob- 
served by ordinary keepers in this county : Whisky, 
fifteen dollars the half pint ; rum, ten dollars the gal- 
lon ; a meal, twelve dollars; stabling or pasturage, 
four dollars the night." 

This seems like the recoi-d of a California reckon- 
ing ; but when a hat was worth five hundred dollars, 
Genin's purchase of his J enny Lind ticket would have 
been excusable. When Congress recommended to the 
States to pass laws making paper currency a legaj 



AUECrxyTE OF WASHINGTON. 301 

tender, at its nominal value in coin, it was considered 
by Washington a procedure unjust in principle, and 
iniquitous in effect. 

" When the army was at Morristown, a man of respecta- 
ble standing lived in the neighborhood, who was assiduous 
in his civilities to Washington, which were kindly received 
and reciprocated. Unluckily, this man paid his debts in the 
depreciated currency. Sometime afterwards, he called at 
head-quarters, and was introduced as usual to the general's 
apartment, where he was then conversing with some of his 
officers. He bestowed very little attention upon the visitor. 
The same thing occurred a second time, when he was more 
reserved than before. This was so different from his cus- 
tomary manner, that Lafayette, who was present, on both 
occasions, could not help remarking it, and he said, after the 
man was gone, ' General, this man seems to be much devoted 
to you, and yet you have scarcely noticed him.' Washing- 
ton replied, smiling, ' I know I have not been cordial ; I 
tried hard to be civil, and attempted to speak to him two or 
three times, but that Continental money stopped my mouth." 

In 1782, Yirginia gave the district of Kentucky a 
general court, witli all its array of judges and attor- 
ney-generals, which was a very great convenience, as 
heretofore the legal business of the country was trans- 
acted at Richmond, which made the frontier in a prac- 
tical vassalage ; for when the decision of their rights 
was thus within the control of others, it gave them 
very little real freedom. Especially was a good home 
CO art necessary, when the titles to lands were so in- 



^0^ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

volved. Indeed, a quarrel about land and ownership 
was the very dispute into which the settlers, the mo- 
ment the crack of the Indian rifle ceased to be heard 
in their neighborhood, were most likely to rush. 
With individuals as with nations, the disi:>osition is to 
seize. The Indian sachems once asked Mr, Gist 
where their own lands were, for the French claimed 
all the land on the one side of the Ohio River, and 
the English on the other ; and out of a land quarrel 
the war of 1T53 began, in which nearly all the Euro- 
pean continent became involved, and which, in its 
consequences, gave rise to the American Kevolution.- 
The first blow struck on the Ohio began the series, 
just as the forest pilgrimage of Daniel Boone led to 
the development of the great Western Empire. 

The court was at first held at Harrodsburgh. It 
was afterwards removed to a place which obtained 
the name of Dansville. Those who first took upon 
themselves the judicial ermine, did not imagine that 
in the great State which was to arise out of this new 
country, one of the largest and most important of all 
the differences that ever agitated the people of Ken- 
tucky was to arise out of the old and new courts — 
words interwoven with the record of a bitter struggle, 
■which soon found its way into and controlled the pol- 
itics of the State. 

Boone having now established himself on a farm, 
and, settled in a log house, gave his family hope that he 



BOONE A FARMER. 303 

had, at last, found a quiet home, where the battle 
should be known only by the stirring histories which 
he might give of the dread doings he had witnessed. 
Boone's character develops itself in the calmness with 
which he left the bold business of the soldier, to take 
up his rifle only as a hunter. To the pursuit of hunt- 
ing Boone owes much of the ordinary reputation his 
name bears, but he was not one of those to whom 
hunting was a necessity of existence. He had a vast 
power in his rifle — his knowledge of woodcraft — his 
great experience — and he was eminently without a 
superior, but it was in better enterprises than the 
chase, that Boone made his record in the page of 
fame ; and in the history of a man who proved him- 
self possessed of the highest qualities which assist in 
the formation of a State, it is of little importance to 
narrate the incidents of the amusement or support he 
received from the woods. JSTotwithstanding all the 
fanciful fictions which have been drawn of Boone's 
desire for solitude, which, except at one period of his 
life, and then only temporary, are unfounded, he 
probably supposed that he had fixed in Fayette coun- 
ty his permanent home. Thus even the grandilo- 
quent language which Filson makes him use, the idea 
of rest after a series of fierce contests with the sava- 
ges, is prominent. " Peace comes to the sylvan shade. 
I now live in peace and safety, enjoying the sweets of 
liberty," he says, and he pours out his " thanks — ar 



S04: LITE OF DANIEL BOOITE. 

dent and ceaseless thanks — to the all superintending 
Providence which has turned a cruel war into peace." 
He knew the cost at which the white men had gained 
his beloved Kentucky. The perils, from the hour he 
looked out upon the wilderness alone and without 
face of human being to cheer him, to the moment 
when he left his dead son to the cruelties of the fierce 
Indian, were before him. He believed his destiny as 
" an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness " to 
be accomplished. 

The establishment of peace between this country — 
free and sovereign States — and Great Britain, gave 
strength to the hope of the settler, and encouraged 
Boone to believe that Kentucky would rise to all the 
greatness of his fondest hopes. With his strength of 
mind and its concentration — for it is evident that he 
never attempted to tread out of the range of purpose 
for which he thought himself most competent — he 
could not but watch all the onward movements of 
civilization with great interest. It is quite likely that 
what pleased him least, was to see that the reference 
by one neighbor of his dispute to the settlement of an- 
other, was forsaken, for the complicated practice of 
the courts increased ; to notice that, day by day, the 
law was assuming in its forms and precedents more 
and more of authority. His early life in ISTorth Car- 
olina had educated him for such opinions, because 
there the abuses and oppressions of those_who were 



FIRST JUDGES OF KENTTJCKT. 305 

sheltered beneath the regulations smd rules of laW; 
had convulsed society. Ilis loss of his land papers, 
and the endless difficulties to which it subjected him, 
all strengthened this feeling ; but as he had, as he 
thought, a good claim, he went on in its improve- 
ment, and looked to the agriculture of the country — 
while lie never forgot the relation in which he stood 
to the Indians, but kept his good rifle where his hand 
could, in an instant, be upon it. It had too often 
shown its value to be neglected. 

Meanwhile, the luxuries of life began to find their 
way to this region. In 1780, Virginia had passed a 
law establishing the town of Louisville, at the Falls of 
the Ohio, and though the Indian stood ready, if possi- 
ble, to track every footstep thither with blood, yet the 
irresistible progress of civilization overcame all dan- 
gers. In 1783, Daniel Brodhead astonished the settlers 
by offering for sale goods from Philadelphia, having 
succeeded in freighting them from thence to Pittsburgh 
in wagons, and down the river in flat-boats. Even 
upon those days of simplicity arose the radiance of 
gaudy calico and overshadowing wool hats. It was 
a time of serious innovation. 

John Floyd and Samuel McDowell were the first 
judges of the Kentucky district. Both these names 
are of families illustrious in the annals of Yirginia, 
even to our own day. 

The emigration in the years 1783 and 1784, is com- 

20 



306 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

puted by Filson.to have amounted to not less than 
twelve thousand ; but this seems an exaggerated 
number. The Indians seemed to let the settlers alone 
for the time, and that most eulogistic historian of Ken- 
tucky, Imlay, declares that there appears to be no- 
thing wanting to make them the happiest people upon 
earth. He says that the order and quiet which pre- 
vailed in 1784, was sufficient to have induced a stran- 
ger to believe he was living under an old settled gov- 
ernment. He may have so thought, being a surveyor, 
but the adjustment of the claims of settlement and 
preemption rights soon, at least in some cases, made 
this happiness chequered by many proceedings which 
spread ruin to those who had suffered and done the 
most to bring about the settlement of the country. 
The man who knew and practised only the broad 
rules of fairness, and who, because he knew that his 
own notions were pure, thought equal justice would 
be wrought to him, was not the person to cope with 
the shrewd and cunning speculator, who had a touch 
of Shylock about him, and was as ready to insist upon 
every nicety of legal enactment, when it would work 
in his favor, as was the Jew to exact the fearful pen- 
alty of his bond. Cooper, in his best story — the Pi- 
oneer — illustrates this, in the case of the simple- 
hearted hunter, who found it impossible to see the 
justice of the procedure of the courts. It is easy to 
see that our great novelist must have drawn from 



307 

the history of Boone much of the suggestion of his 
hunter character. 

Boone was soon to feel that, like the many of 
earth's benefactors, when his services ceased to be 
vitally necessary their value was speedily forgotten. 

Boone's own narrative seems to reach to the year 
1784. At the time it was written in his dictation, it 
was prepared simultaneously with a description of 
Kentucky by Filson, and to this history, Col. Boone, 
and Levi Todd, and James Harrod, give their cordial 
recommendation. Their experience in the way of 
criticism on books was not as extensive as their ac- 
quaintance with rougher enterprises. At the close 
of the sketch of his life, Boone gives, and calls atten- 
tion to it, a curious document relating to the Indians. 
It is the speech to them of a Mr. Dalton — who was 
probably a government agent — and their reply. 
There are some curious illustrations of the times in 
its contents. It assigns their poverty as the cause of 
their alliance with the English. The copartnership 
left them far poorer than it found them. Their hopes 
of driving the settler away had all ceased, and the fact 
that even the great king across the water had not been 
able to assist them to it, was not longer to be passed 
by. They profess a claim of friendship with the set- 
tiers. Boone says, it was their wretchedness which 
drove them to it. Melancholy it is to notice the ear* 
nest pleading which these chiefs use, to procure the 



308 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONfi. 

fatal gift of rum ; — to be able to make it, seems a 
knowledge and art they greatly covet. Some of their 
prisoners astonished them by telling them that they 
possessed such rare skill. The gift they coveted they 
doubtless received. It was the curse of the day, and 
the white man who ought to have gone forth to bless 
and to civilize, made this passion of the Indian the 
swift instrument of their destruction. To such fate 
was the poor Indian early doomed, and his own hor- 
rible cruelty dismissed all sympathy for him from the 
frontier. He appeared before them only as a being 
using power wherever he obtained it, too often under 
circumstances of cruelty in which, if a white man par- 
ticipated, it was only when he became the most aban- 
doned of his race. The Indian could not but have 
seeji that his destiny was to pass away. This memo- 
rial shows it. 

"My Children : — What I have often told you is now come 
to pass. This day I received news from my Great Chiel, 
at the Falls of Ohio. Peace is made with the enemies of 
America. The white flesh, the Americans, French, Spanish, 
Dutch, and English, this day smoked out of the peace-pipe. 
The tomahawk is buried and they are now friends. I am 
told the Shawanese, Delawares, Chickasaws, Cherokees, and 
all other red flesh, have taken the Long Knife by the hand. 
They have given up to them the prisoners that were in their 
nation. 

" My Children on Wabash : — Open your ears, and let 
what I tell you sink into your hearts. You know me. Near 



KEPLT OF THE INDIANS. 309 

twenty years I have been among you. The Long Knife is 
my nation. I know their hearts ; peace they carry in one 
hand, and war in the other. 1 leave you to yourselves to 
judge. Consider, and now accept the one or the other. We 
never beg peace of our enemies. If you love your women 
and children, receive the belt of wampum, I present you. 
Return me my flesh you have in your villages, and the hor- 
ses you stole from my people in Kentucky. Your corn fields 
were never disturbed by the Long Knife. Your women and 
children, lived quiet in their houses, while your warriors 
were killing and robbing my people. All this you know is 
the truth. This is the last time I shall speak to you. I have 
waited six moons to hear you speak, and to get my people 
from you. In ten nights I shall leave the Wabash to see 
my Great Chief at the Falls of Ohio, where he will be glad 
to hear, from your own lips, what you have to say. 

"Here is tobacco I give you; smoke, and consider what I 
have said. Then I delivered one belt of blue and white 
wampum, and said, Piankashaw, speak, speak to the Ame- 



Then the Piankashaw chief answered : 

" My Great Father, the Long Knife : — You have been 
many years among us. You have suffered by us. We still 
hope you will have pity and compassion upon us, on our 
women and cliildren : the day is clear. The sun shines on 
us, and the good news of peace appears in our faces. This 
day, my father, tliis is the day of joy to the Wabash Indians. 
With one tongue we now speak. We accept your peace- 
belt. We return God thanks ; you are the man that deliv- 
ered us, what we long wished for, peace with the white flesh. 
My father, we have many times counseled before you knew 
us : and you know how some of us suffered before. We ro 



310 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ceived the tomahawk from the English : poverty forced us 
to it, we were attended by other nations : we are sorry for 
it : we this day collect the bones of our friends that long 
ago were scattered upon the earth. We bury them in one 
grave. We thus plant the tree of peace, that God may 
spread branches, so that we can all be secured from bad 
weather. They smoke as brothers out of the peace-pipe we 
now present to you. Here, my father, is the pipe that gives 
us joy. Smoke out of it. Our warriors are glad you are 
the man we present it to. You see, father, we have buried 
the tomahawk, we now make a great chain of friendship 
«ever to be broken ; and now, as one people, smoke out of 
j^our pipe. 

"My father, we know God was angry with us for stealing 
your horses, and disturbing your people. He has sent us so 
much snow and cold weather, that God himself killed all 
your horses with our own. We are now a poor people. 
God, we hope, will help us ; and our father, the Long Knife, 
have pity and compassion on our women and children. Your 
flesh, my father, is well, that is among us ; we shall collect 
them all together, when they come in from hunting. Don't 
be sorry, my father, all the prisoners taken at Kentucky are 
alive and well ; we love them, and so do our young women. 
Some of your people mend our guns, and others tell us they 
can make rum out of corn. Those are now the same as we. 
In one moon after this we will go with them to their friends 
in Kentucky. Some of your people will now go with 
Costca, a chief of our nation, to see his great father, the 
Long Knife, at the Falls of Ohio. 

" My father, this being the day of joy to the Wabash In- 
dians, we beg a little drop of your milk, to let our warriors 
see it came from your own breast. We weis born and 
raist i in the woods ; we could never learn to make rum — 



EFFECT ON THE INDIANS. 



311 



God has made the white flesh masters of the world ; they 
make ever^^thijag ; and we all love rum. 

" Then they delivered three strings of blue and white 
wampum, and the coronet of peace. 
" Present in council, 

" MusKiTO, Antia, 

Capt. Beaver, Montour, 

Woods & Burning, Castia, 

Badtripes, Grand Court, 

with many other chiefs and war captains, and the principal 
inhabitants of the port of St. Vincents." 



Strange to say, the effect of the severe lessons im- 
printed on the minds of the Pinkiashaw Indians seems 
not to have been effaced even to this hour. The re- 
port of the commissioner . of Indian affairs in 1853, 
states this tribe — a small remnant — as one of those 
who, yielding to the forthcoming power of the white 
man, were willing to sell out their possessions and re« 
treat still further to the western forests. 




CHAPTEE XVII. 

INDIAN HOSTILITIES RENEWED-^ THE NUMEROUS CONVENTIONS RELATIVE 10 

THE FORMATION OF A STATE JOHN MARSHALL KENTUCKY ADMITTED I» 

THE UNION AS A STATE IN 1791 BOONe's DIFFICULTIES RELATIVE TO THK 

TITLE TO HIS LANDS HE LOSES HIS FARM NARRATIVE OF THE ESCAPE 

OF DOWNING AND YATES FROM THE INDIANS THE BRAVE KENTUCKIANS 

— ESCAPE OF MR. ROWAN AND FAMILY BOONE's VISIT TO HIS BIRTH- 
PLACE HIS HARDSHIPS IN THE LOSS OF HIS LANDS. 

In 1784, the Indian again made -his power to ha- 
rass the settler known. The settlers of Kentucky felt 
that they were overlooked by Virginia ; that the seat 
of government was too far away ; and that while 
peace came to all the rest of the Union, it had omit- 
ted its gentle reign over a district where it was un- 
safe to wander out of sight of the stations and forts, 
without being well armed. Indeed, a rumor spread 
that there was to be a repetition of the invasions by 
large forces, which had so desolated the frontier in 
the battle of the Blue Licks ; and a concentration of 
the settlements was suggested, and a meeting of ma- 
ny of their best men was held at Dansville. They 
looked over the laws which governed their action, and 
found that if the invasion was to take place, it must 
be repelled by volunteer efibrt, as the powers neces- 



CONVENTION AT DANSVILLE. 313 

sary to carry on a war ceased with the declaration of 
peace. It was a weary distance over to llichmond, 
and rich as the great State of Virginia was in brave 
men and good lawyers, the Indian would wait for 
neither the arms of the one or the opinions of the 
other. 

The threatened invasion did not take place: the 
Indian had his memories of the destruction of his 
towns too vivid to give him much heart to carry on 
another campaign. The meeting at Dansville argued 
whether it were not best — indeed, whether it were 
not the only true course — to strike their blow in ad- 
vance, and proceed like Sullivan and Clarke, to a war 
of extermination. In this condition of opinion, to 
find themselves without legal power to make this 
movement, was most embarrassing; and they pro- 
ceeded to do, what so many public bodies do — to 
call another convention, which should be somewhat 
more formal, and possess a more detailed delegated 
authority. 

Curiously, the elections for the new conyention 
were held from each militia company ; as if Kentucky 
was to be carried forward at every stage of her pro- 
gress bv the sword. The delegates again met ; and 
one of the most singular pages in the annals of Ken- 
tucky is the great number of conventions that were 
held by a people more familiar with the rifle than 
with the pen, and far more at home in the stirring 
N 



314: LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

shout of the border fight or forest hunt, than in the 
parliamentary debate. In the lists of delegates we 
do not find the name of Col. Boone, and the reason 
is an obvious one. He was one of those men who, 
possessing the power to act well the career he should 
select, sought only that which led him to withdraw 
from the crowd. He led the way in heroic and noble 
achievement to lay the foundation of the State. For 
this he dared death in every shape, and went through 
a series of adventures more bold and impressive than 
are found in the life of a vast number of those on 
whom the world flings its laurels ; but in the control 
of the community he had formed, he took no part. 
He knew that the convention at Dansville might for- 
get him in its papers and its talk ; but he knew as 
well, that if the invasion, the fear of which had 
brought them together, should take place, they would 
turn to the Pioneer to be of those who should lead 
them to victory. 

Of this second meeting at Dansville, a young man 
was secretary, who prosecuted his studies, to qualify 
himself for his profession, by fire-light — the hours of 
the day being occupied in the labors necessary for his 
support. He commenced the practice when ys horse, 
saddle and bridle, and thirty-seven and a half cents 
in money, were all his means ; and he died a Justice 
of the Supreme Court of the United States — the as- 
sociate of John Marshall. He was of those men. 



MORE CONVENTIONS. 315 

wliose good sense and integrity were so valuable to 
Kentucky in the hour when its character as a com- 
monwealth was forming. 

This convention was very clear in oj)inion that the 
time had come when the State of Kentucky should 
be organized, and her separation from the govern- 
ment of Yirginia determined. But, as if it was most 
excellent emploj^ment for these hardy sons of the 
frontier to meet in formal assemblages, the subject 
was referred to another convention, which met in 
May, 1785, at Dansville — as famous for its conven- 
tions as is, in this day, the city of Syracuse. 

This one met on the twenty- third of May. Profit- 
ing by the dignified example set by the Transylvania 
Legislature, which had been the pioneer of all, its 
proceedings were conducted with great order. They 
resolved that Kentucky ought to be taken into union 
with the United States of America, and enjoy equal 
privileges in common with the other States ; and then 
they referred the subject over again to another con- 
vention, to assemble in August. 

And this, also, met ; for the Kentuckians followed 
their political affairs with all the determination and. 
zeal with which they had conquered the country from 
the savages. 

Gen. Wilkinson was a member of tliis convention, 
and in its name gave forth an address which, in its 
power of expression, carried great influence. It was 



316 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

quickened by the belief, founded on wliat tliey heard 
from Yincennes, that the Indians had not merely not 
relinquished the idea of a general war, but were or- 
ganizing for the purpose. They urged the people every- 
where to organize and prepare for defence. They ap- 
pointed deputies to proceed to Yirginia, to present 
their address to the authorities, in whose power its 
fulfillment existed. These bold pioneers made two law- 
yers (Muter and Jarvis) their representatives, and 
awaited calmly the result of their labors. How strange- 
ly the services of one of these — Chief Justice Muter — - 
were remunerated, the records of his neglect show. 

The Legislature of Yirginia was composed of men 
too wise not to see that separation was inevitable. Sep- 
arated from the parent State by a distance and by 
difficulties of communication, in those days most for- 
midable, they saw that Kentuckians would not long 
submit to be ruled by those whose power was so far 
removed as to surround every approach to it with 
the greatest embarrassment. It was,without its wrongs, 
and tyranny, and misgovernment, the repetition of 
the circumstances of the CroAvn and the Colonies ; 
and with good judgment, and, as the beautiful lan- 
guage used by the Dansville convention expressed it, 
with sole intent to bless its people, they agreed to a 
dismemberment of its parts, to secure the happiness 
of the whole. 

But the Kentuckians were called to another con- 



CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL. 817 

vention at Dansville, in September, 1786. To this 
the delegates were elected, but circumstances conse- 
quent upon the Indian hostilities, to which reference 
will be made, prevented the assemblage of a quorum. 
Those who were in session, with a good sense which 
might often felicitously be imitated in modern legis- 
latures, did not assume to act for the whole body ; 
but organizing as a committee, represented the cir- 
cumstances to the authorities of Yirginia. 

Their communication was committed to the care 
and charge of John Marshall, that glorious chief pil- 
lar in the fabric of American jurisprudence. He 
gave to young Kentucky the advocacy which he, in 
his quick and strong mind, saw she deserved ; and it 
will always be a bright record in the history of both 
States, that his great name is linked with the act that 
made two great commonwealths of one. 

But the convention had to meet again ! and when 
it did meet, the determination for independent sove 
reignty was unanimous. Surely, after so many, wea 
ried nature would seek for some conclusion. 

It will be well, before returning to where Boone 
was quietly pursuing his agricultural labors, diversi 
fled by the sound of his rifle in the chase and hunt- 
all the while fearing the craft of the speculator and 
the land-jobber more than he did the fierce face of 
the Indian — to thread out this long line of conven- 
tions. A belief that there existed a disposition in 



318 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

Congress to cede away what was to all these settlers 
— and justly — considered an inestimable right, the 
navigation of the Mississippi, entered now into the 
public mind to an extent which seriously embarrassed 
the question of the independence of the State. 

The time fixed in which the consent of Congress 
was to be obtained, was deemed too short, and an ex- 
tension asked for, and the Yirginia Legislature re- 
vised the act, so as to call another convention to le 
held at Dansville, in September, 1787. 

January 1st, 1789, was fixed upon as the period 
when, if the convention agreed, the laws of Yirginia 
should cease, and the agreement of Congress was to 
be had before July 4:th, 1788. But in the mean time, 
the other convention had found a quorum, and agreed 
to the former conditions. This state of things brought 
the affair, after all its vexatious delays, about to its 
starting point, rather than to a termination. 

Under a belief that the navigation of the Missis- 
sippi was really about to be diplomatised away, a 
spirited letter was issued to the Kentuckians — signed 
among others by Justice Muter — recommending a 
convention at Dansville again ! and that celebrated 
place of convocation witnessed another, which, how- 
ever, dispersed without action. 

Then, in conformity with the last act of Yirginia, 
another convention was elected — which Dansville 
again entertained, and who reiterated that they, likQ 



FTRST DELEGATE TO CONGRESS. 319 

tlieir predecessors, were unanimously in favor of be- 
ing a sovereign State, and not a dependency even of 
venerable Yirginia. 

They sent their proceedings to the Yirginia Legis- 
lature, and asked that tbey might select a delegate 
to Congress, wlio should urge that body to agree to 
the separation. 

Yirginia agreed to the choice of a delegate, and 
Kentucky, not exactly as a separate organization, 
but yet not entirely as included in Yirginia, first 
made itself known in that Federal Legislature, where, 
in after years, her voice was to be heard — of all oth- 
ers, most eloquently — by Mr. John Brown, a lawyer 
of great talent, and whose popularity was eminently 
deserved. It was now decreed that the power of Yir- 
ginia should cease on the last day of 1788, and — with, 
resistless destiny — the Kentuckians were required to 
elect delegates to another convention ! to be held at 
Dansville, to form a constitution. 

But, in the mean time, Congress itself had inter- 
posed between it and its powers and duties, the action 
of the great Constitutional Convention of Philadel- 
phia, over which George Washington presided, and 
the result of whose labors was that instrument whose 
design was^to form a more perfect union — establish 
justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the 
common defense, promote the general welfare, and 
secure the blessings of liberty "-and which great work 



S20 LIFE OF DANIEL BOGNE, 

the experiences of a half centurj and more, show ha» 
been so well performed. Such were the delays in 
the action of Congress, that the question of the ad- 
mission of Kentucky was not taken up till the thirti- 
eth of July, while the law of Virginia required the 
whole to be consianmated by the fourth ! 

It belongs to the history of Kentucky, and not to 
that of Boone, to trace out the effect which all this 
delay produced. Whether that bold people did not 
seriously, by some of their leading minds, debate the 
question whether, as they had so often been foiled in 
their attempt to become one of the Union, they had 
not the strength and energy to go on to greatness with- 
out it — is for the historian of Kentucky to determine, 
by a laborious and patient investigation. The ques- 
tion is now only one of curious history, and the time 
will soon come when it will be, in all its features, 
presented to the student, as illustrating the Age. 

Acting under the law of Virginia, a convention as- 
sembled to form a constitution for Kentucky. As 
Congress had passed a resolution for its admission on 
the fourth of July, 1789, though it was the postpone- 
ment of a year, yet there seemed a remarkable prob- 
ability that the end was coming. This convention, 
however, was most occupied in the discussion of the 
separate independence question, which, fortunately, 
while it blazed up very lightly for a time, had no en 
during strength, 



ADMITTED A3 A STATE. 321 

Now Virginia took another act in the drama, and 
passed a third act, requiring Kentucky to elect dele 
gates to another convention in Dansville ! in July, 
1789, and it assembled. By this time, the habit oi 
assembling at this famous place must have become 
familiar. Kot yet was the way clear. Virginia had 
interposed certain conditions to her acquiescence to 
the separation, to which the Kentuckians declined to 
accede ; and absolutely another convention was called 
to assemble in 1790. And this, too, assembled, and 
as Virginia, by subsequent legislation, had removed 
the obnoxious conditions, the formal act of separation 
was, at last, after all this weary procedure, establish- 
ed. Another convention assembled and formed a 
constitution. On the earnest recommendation of 
Gen. Washington — on the fourth of February, 1791 
— Kentucky, by act of Congress, was admitted as a 
sovereign State ; accomplishing this good purpose by 
perseverance under a series of vexatious difficulties, 
the moiety of which would have been resorted to, by 
less patriotic communities, as cause for finding that 
independence by the strong arm, w^hich the law 
refused. 

ISTot Boonesborough, in all its nine days' hard fight- 
ing, sustained a longer siege than did Dansville in 
her most numerous conventions. It was great in- 
gratitude to her, after alL her experiences, to remove 
N* 21 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

the seat of government, as was done in 1792, to 
Lexington. 

While Dansville was thus witnessing such a pro- 
cession of conventions, and the pen and the voice 
were assuming the power which will always vest in 
them, after strength has prepared their way, the com- 
mon affairs of life among the frontier inhabitants 
went on. They had laid the foundation of their fu- 
ture home in the midst of peril, of difficulty, of dan- 
ger, of death. How many of those who thus found 
that their possession of the rich and good land was 
only accomplished by privation and suffering, as they 
reflected upon the quiet and prosperity of those 
homes in the Atlantic States which they had left, but 
felt sometimes as if they would say with the Jews of 
old — " ISTo : but we will go into the land of Egypt, 
where we shall see no war, nor hear the sound of the 
trumpet, nor have hunger of bread, and there will 
we dwell." 

With more firmness than was possessed by the peo- 
ple of the chosen land, the settlers adhered to their 
homes, surviving all the horrors of Indian warfare, 
and every hour becoming more sensible that in Ken- 
tucky, in its abundant development of all the riches 
of a luxuriant land, they had found an estate for 
which it was worth while to endure the perils of the 
frontier. 

Boone saw all these conventions come and go, and 



BOONE IN TROUBLE. 323 

it is most probable, with his simple and direct idea 
of what should constitute the dealing of man to man, 
thought the country of his settlement no gainer by so 
much of form. "While so much trouble was taken to 
move on in strict correctness towards sovereignty as a 
State, Boone felt that the individual did not fare so 
well. He found that for the possession of land, how 
much soever different in its acquisition, the counsel 
of a good lawyer was more valuable than the accura- 
cy or skill of the hunter ; and the quiet of the place 
which he occupied near Boonesborough, was disturb- 
td by the efforts of certain persons to dispossess him 
of it on account of some informality in its location. 

Thispart of Boone's history is but imperfectly known. 
It is evident by the language of his memorial addressed 
to the Legislature of Kentucky in 1812, that very 
soon after the immediate troubles with the Indians 
had ceased, and he had begun to improve the land 
to which he thought he had secured possession, legal 
proceedings were commenced against him. He soon 
found that his series of troubles w^hich had begun in 
the disastrous loss of his money, when he had collect- 
ed it, and was on his way to buy land, that this series 
of disaster had not finished. Boone felt that he had 
pointed the way to this noble inheritance. He knew 
that he had defended it amidst a thousand perils — 
that for it he had sacrificed lives little less dear to 
him than his own, and he could not understand the 



324: LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

justice of making a set of complicated forms superior 
to an honest occupancy of land, which he had se- 
lected, as he believed, when and where it was his 
right. 

The land title law of Yirginia was calculated for 
the benefit of the acute speculator. It was not a law 
for Boone, and Kenton, and the pioneers, and they 
melted away beneath it. They were sued, and they 
defended as best they could. They resorted to coun- 
sel, and went to court, but the whole affair was vex- 
atious. It was not that they could weaken the power 
or authority of the law, but they could not divest 
themselves of the belief that the land was theirs by 
their settlement of it, maintained against the savage 
80 long ; and when they found that their fair posses- 
sions, by reason of defect in the manner of location, 
were vested in others, it gave them an unhappy feel- 
ing towards the law itself. 

Boone lost his farm. Coming to the country, and 
living in it when the foot of no other white man trod 
its leaves — daring all the peril of Indian and beast — 
tunted — captured -;- fighting and conquering — he 
found himself in his own beloved Kentucky, without 
possessions. There was land for the thousands, but 
no land for him. In his memorial to the Kentucky 
Legislature, after relating the loss of all his money by 
robbery, he mournfully says, that the few lands he 
did locate were swallowed up by better claims. It is 



A THRILLING RECITAL. 325 

difficult for us to understand, at tins day, how a com- 
munity could allow this brave Pioneer to be divested 
of the land his courage and enterprise had won. 

Kentucky was not yet free from the Indians, and 
the story of the numerous adventures that befell her 
sons, as they have been gathered in Collins' excel- 
lent history, make a group of recitals, having the in- 
terest of exciting romance. One of the most curious 
of these is related by McClung : 

" In the month of xlugust, 1786, Mr. Francis DoA\Tiing, 
then a mere lad, was living in a fort, where subsequently 
some iron works were erected by Mr. Jacob Myers, which 
are now known by the name of the State Creek Works, and 
are now the property of Col. Thomas Dye Owings. About 
the 16th, a young man belonging to the fort called upon 
Downing, and requested his assistance in hunting for a horse 
wliich had strayed away on the preceding evening. Down- 
ing readily complied, and the two friends traversed the 
woods in every direction, until at length, towards evening, 
they found themselves in a wild valley, at the distance of 
six or seven miles from the fort. Here Downing became 
alarmed, and repeatedly assured his elder companion, (whose 
name was Yates,) that he heard sticks cracking behind them, 
and was confident that Indians were dogging them. Yates 
being an experienced hunter, and from habit grown indiffer- 
ent to the dangers of the woods, diverted himself freely at 
the expense of his young companion, often enquiring at what 
price he rated his scalp, and offering to insure it for a six- 
pence. Downing, however, was not so easily satisfied. He 
observed, that in whatever direction they turned the same 
ominous sounds continued to haunt thf^^'oi, and as Yates still 



B26 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONlii. 

treated his fears with the most perfect indifference, he detef 
mined to take hs measures upon his own responsibility. 
Gradually slacking his pace, he permitted Yates to advance 
twenty or thirty steps in front of him, and immediately af- 
terwards descending a gentle hill, he suddenly sprung aside, 
and hid himself in a thick cluster of whortleberry bushes. 
Yates, who at that time was performing some woodland 
ditty to the full extent of his lungs, was too much pleased 
with his own voice to attend to either Downing or the In- 
dians, and was quickly out of sight. 

" Scarcely had he disappeared, when Downing, to his un- 
speakable terror, beheld two savages put aside the stalks of 
a cane-brake, and look out cautiously in the direction Yates 
had taken. Fearful that they had seen him step aside, he 
determined to fire upon them, and trust to his heels for safe- 
ty, but so unsteady was his hand, that in raising the gun to 
his shoulder, she went off before he had taken aim. He 
lost no time m following her example, and after running fifty 
yards, he met Yates, who, alarmed at the report, was hastily 
retracing his steps. It was not necessary to enquire what 
was the matter. The enemy were in full view, pressing for- 
ward with great rapidity. Yates would not outstrip Down- 
ing, but ran by his side, although in so doing he risked both 
of their lives. The Indians were well acquainted with the 
country, and soon took a path that diverged from the one 
the whites followed at one point, and rejoined it at another, 
bearing the same relation to it that the string does to the 
bow. The two paths were at no point distant from each 
other more than one hundred yards, so that Yates and Down- 
ing could easily see the enemy gaining rapidly upon them. 
They reached the point of re-union first, however, and quickly 
came to a deep gully, which it was necessary to cross or re- 
trace their steps Yates cleared it without difficulty, bul 



remai!,b:aj3Le escape. 327 

Downing, being much exhausted, fell short ; and falling with 
his breast against the opposite bank, rebounded with vio- 
lence, and fell at full length upon the bottom. The Indians 
crossed the ditch a few yards below him, and eager for the 
capture of Yates, continued the pursuit, without appearing 
to notice Downing. The latter, who at first had given him- 
self up for lost, quickly recovered his strength, and began to 
walk slowly around the ditch, fearing to leave it, lest the 
enemy should see him. As he advanced, however, the ditch 
became more shallow, until it ceased to protect him at all. 
Looking round cautiously, he saw one of the Indians return- 
ing, apparently in quest of him. Unfortunately he had neg- 
lected to re-load his gun, while in the ditch, and as the In- 
dian instantly advanced upon him, he had no recourse but 
flight. Throwing away his gun, which was now useless, he 
plied his legs manfully in ascending the long ridge which 
stretched before him, but the Indian gained on him so rapidly 
he lost all hope of escape. Coming, at length, to a large 
poplar, which had been blown up by the roots, he ran along 
the body of the tree on one side, while the Indian followed 
it upon the other, doubtless expecting to intercept him at 
the root. But here the supreme dominion of fortune was 
manifest. It happened that a large she bear was suckling 
her cubs in a bed which she had made at the root of the tree, 
and as the Indian reached that point first, she instantly sprung 
upon him, and a prodigious uproar took place. The Indian 
yelled, and stabbed with his knife ; the bear growled and 
saluted him with one of her most endearing " hugs,^^ while 
Downing fervently wishing her success, ran off through the 
woods, without waiting to see the event of the struggle. 
Downing reached the fort in safety, and found Yates repo- 
sing after a hot chase, having eluded his pursuers, and gained 
the fort two hours before him. On the next morning, they 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 



collected a party and returned to the poplar tree, but no 
traces of either Indian or bear were to be found. They both, 
probably, escaped with their lives, although not without 



injury." 



The annals of Kentucky are those of bravery and 
chivalry — so far as those are concerned by v^liom the 
government was made that of the white, rather than 
the roving dominion of the savage. 'No country 
could be settled by such a race of men as those who 
succeeded in obtaining a foothold in Kentucky, with- 
out elevating it in the scale of nations, as the land of 
men who could intelligently understand and bravely 
maintain their rights. 

To be brave — to meet with coolness and energy 
every emergency — became to them a second nature. 
How forcibly this is illustrated in the life of Boone, 
our record shows. When, after he had passed safely 
through all his captivity — had made his escape — 
had vanquished his captors, first by his successful 
strategy, and then by his desperate battle at Boones- 
borough — after all this, to summon to himself at 
once, as he did in that terrific moment, when four 
armed Indians stood before him — a lone, unarmed 
man — to bring himself instantly into the possession 
of the calm courage by which he could look them in 
the face, and greet those who he knew had risked 
their own lives to enable the tribe to glut their ven- 
geance on him — to do a A this, required an heroism 



ESCAPE OF MR. EOWAl^. 

Df the highest order. It was this which bore him 
through such scenes, and he found in all his experi- 
ences — so far as the records of him have come down 
to us — no moment when his courage or his skill for- 
sook him. He wasted no breath in boasting, but 
carefully waited for the precise hour when the 
blow should fall, and then gave it with terrible 
energy. 

Men in those days communicated their courage 
even to gentle woman. The history is full of the 
deeds of female courage. The interest of the follow- 
ing will be confessed by all : 

" In the latter part of April, 1784, the father of the late 
Judge Rowan, with his family and five other families, set 
out from Louisville in two flat-bottomed boats, for the Long 
[Falls of Green Eiver. The intention was to descend the 
Ohio River to the mouth of Green River, and ascend that 
river to the place of destination. At that time there were 
no settlements in Kentucky, within one hundred miles of the 
Long Falls of Green River, (afterwards called Vienna.) 
The families were in one boat, and their cattle in another. 
"When the boats had descended the Ohio about one hundred 
miles, and were near the middle of it, gliding along very 
securely, as it was thought, about ten o'clock of the night, a 
prodigious yelling of Indians was heard some two or three 
miles below, on the northern shore ; and they had floated 
but a short distance further down the river, when a number 
of flres were seen on that shore. The yelling continued, and 
it was concluded that they had captured a boat which had 
passed these two at mid-day, and were massacreing their cap- 



830 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

tives. The two boats were lashed together, and the best 
practicable arrangements were made for defending them. 
The men were distributed by ]\Ir. Rowan to the best advan 
tage, in case of an attack. They were seven in number, in- 
eluding himself. Tlie boats were neared to the Kentucky 
shore, with as little noise with the oars as possible ; but 
avoided too close an approach to that shore, lest there might 
be Indians there also. The fires of the Indians were extend- 
ed along the bank at intervals, for half a mile or more, and 
as the boats reached a point about opposite the central fire, 
they were discovered, and ordered to come to. 

"All on board remained silent, for Mr. Rowan had given 
strict orders that no one should utter any sound but that of 
his rifle, and not that, until the Indians should come within 
powder burning distance. They united in a most terrific 
yell, rushed to their canoes and gave pursuit. The boats 
floated on in silence — not an oar was pulled. The Indians 
approach within less than a hundred yards, with a seeming 
determination to board. Just at this moment, Mrs. Rowan 
rose from her seat, collected the axes, placed one by the side 
of each man, where he stood with his gun, touching him on 
the knee, with the handle of the axe as she leaned it up by 
him against the side of the boat, to let him know it was 
there, and retired to her seat, retaining a hatchet for herself. 
The Indians continued hovering m the rear, and yelling, for 
nearly three miles, when, awed by the silence observed on 
board, they relinquished further pursuit. None but those 
"who have a practical acquaintance with Indian warfare, can 
form a just idea of the terror which their hideous yelling is 
calculated to inspire. Judge Rowan, who was then ten years 
old. states that he could never forget the sensations of that 
night, or cease to admire the fortitude and composure dis- 
played by his mother on that trying occasion. There were 



BOONE LEAVES KENTUCKY. 331 

seven men and three boys in the boat, with nine guns in all. 
Mrs. Rowan, in speaking of the incident afterwards, in her 
calm way, said, ' We nq^de a providential escape, for which 
we ought to feel grateful.' " 

The land law of Virginia was drawn by one of its 
most eminent statesmen — George Mason ; but it 
seems that the Legislature undertook to improve upon 
it, and it was so amended, or rather disfigured, as to 
make it a chaos — and to bury up the hope of many 
a hardy frontier-man in its conflicting interpretations 
or doubtful adjudications. Contested claims were 
"brought up, and contingent fees realized. 

Boone, in 1790, made a visit to his birth-place. 
Whether this was just as he was about to leave Ken- 
tucky, is not known. He was kindly received, and. 
greatly interested his friends by the recital of his for- 
est adventures. Time had not yet made an old man 
of him, though he was verging towards the years 
when the active changes to the reflective. He saw 
in Pennsylvania the progress of a great State, and al- 
though it was in far greater prosperity than when he 
left it to seek his fortunes in the Carolinas, the con- 
trasts were not so great as in the case of his own 
Kentucky. 

The hour had come when Boone determined to 
leave Kentucky. It could not have been to him other 
than a painful step, for Kentucky had been to him as 
a child of his own rearing. He remembered well tho 



332 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

hour when he came back to the settlements from hia 
first long and lonelj journey, and the glowing ac- 
count he had given of tlie laifd of beauty. He re- 
membered his winning, step by step, the company of 
others. He remembered that he had been a captive 
in the horrors of the grasp of the savages — taken as 
a spectacle of triumph to their British allies — and 
now he felt that the Pioneer, having served his day, 
was put aside and neglected. Of him it might have 
been said, as it was of Kenton, " He lost his lands 
acre by acre — the superior skill of the speculatoi 
prevailing over the simplicity and ignorance of the 
hunter. His land was left to those who had nevei 
struck a blow in its defence. Having become too an 
liquated for the fashion of the times, he was kicked 
aside like an old shoe." 

Poor Kenton was in worse usage than Boone — for 
he (Kenton) was actually imprisoned. "His body 
was taken for debt upon the covenants to lands which 
he had given away, and for twelve months he was 
imprisoned upon the very spot where he had built his 
log cabin in 1775, and where he planted his first 
corn." 

It may be that those who took the lead in the go- 
vernment of Kentuoky, were too busy in following 
up the march of endless conventions in their progress 
to and from Dansville, to give a careful thought to 
the fate that was overtaking the Pioneer. Certain it 



RETURNS TO VIRGINIA. 333 

is, that the Kentucky of this day would environ such 
men as Boone with the security of a thousand arms, 
and pour into his lap the treasures of her wealth, ra- 
ther than allow him to leave her soil. 

He went back to Virginia. In early life, the An- 
cient Dominion had called him into honorable service, 
and he sought her protection again on the banks of 
the Kenhawa. Oppressed and impoverished in law- 
suits, it was an easy task for Daniel Boone to remove. 
He had accumjilated no wealth of household goods. 
His wife and his children could readily be transport- 
ed, and it is quite probable that they were glad to 
leave, as they could not but be indignant at the treat- 
ment of neglect with which the father they always 
loved had been met. When he left the neighborhood 
of Boonesborough, if vision could be given to inani- 
mate objects, the old fort should have looked long and 
sadly on his departing form. He had reared its pro- 
tecting walls at a place where, when the country was 
first explored, the buffalo and the deer resorted in 
great numbers. He had driven them away. He had 
driven back the savages in their efforts to repossess 
the soil ; and now he himself was driven back by 
those acts of others who, but for him, might never 
have seen a leaf of the foliage of the glorious land 
they had come to capture by cunning. 



CHAPTER XYIII. 

Boone's influence oter the Indians — services in procuring an ex 

change of prisoners he removes to virginia resumes huntinq 

his habits his residence in virginia he contemplates rk« 

MOVING TO UPPER LOUISIANA GEN. WAYNe's VICTORIES OVER THE IK- 

DIAN8 BOONE LOOKS TO THE WEST. 

Befoee following him to Yirginia, it is of record 
that a few years previous, while on the Ohio River, 
Col. Boone was one of a partj who negotiated an ex- 
change of prisoners with the Indians. The circum- 
stances illustrate the extraordinary power which he 
displayed over the Indians in his intercourse with 
them, sQr that he seems to have been, of all other white 
men, most distinguished among them. In the inter- 
view. Col. Boone delighted the Indians by his hospi- 
tality, to such an extent that they made him and those 
assembled a solemn promise that if in their incursions 
a citizen of that town where they then were, Mays- 
ville, should be captured, the utmost lenity should be 
shown him ; and this extraordinary promise, to the 
profound satisfaction of a citizen of Maysville who 
tested it with faint hope of success, was kept. 

In June, 1YT4, Gov. Dunmore had selected Daniel 
Boone as the man, of all others^ most suitable to ex* 



RESIDENCE IN VIRGINIA. 335 

eciite the bold duty of finding in the great wilderness 
— as was Kentucky then in the judgment of civiliza- 
tion — the surveyors who had been, as was feared, 
lost in its recesses. After a most memorable twenty 
years, in which a vast change had taken place — ele- 
vating the wilderness to a State — Boone was sent out 
by the land of which he had once been — if occupan- 
cy creates possession — sole possessor ; sent out to 
seek a home in a State from which it might seem he 
would not be dissevered, for the date of his change 
of residence seems to be about that in which Ken- 
tucky was, through a myriad of conventions, joining 
herself to the Thirteen. Virginia had at that day a 
great company of distinguished men within her lim- 
its, but it is doubtful whether she possessed many 
who had rendered to the cause of the progress of 
mankind more real, practical service, than he who, 
with pack-hoi-se and humble retinue, felt himself in 
her domain a wanderer from the soil he believed he 
had, of all men, some right to call his own. 

Removing to Virginia, he settled on the Kenhawa 
Kiver, near Point Pleasant. Who obtained his land 
at Boonesborough, it might not be easy to trace out, 
in the confused condition in which, for a period, land 
"•itles in Kentucky were. It has been said that the 
3eat of Henry Clay — Ashland — is part of a property 
that once belonged to Boone. If this is so, never did 
land claim in its history more eminent proprietors ; 



336 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

and Kentucky might well consider those acres of its 
soil identified with its highest honor. 

He found in his new home many of the incidents 
of that which he had held in Kentucky. He pursued 
the chase with the zest and delight that enabled him 
at all times to turn from the world to the woods, and 
the celebrity of which, for a long period, caused his 
name to be associated only with the exploits of wood- 
craft, unacquainted as the mass of those who heard 
of him were, that he had been far more memorable 
as the founder of a great empire — the domain of civ- 
ilized man in the west — than for all his accuracy of 
rifle, or vigor of pursuit, distinguished even as he was 
in both. 

It is quite probable that when he found his hope 
of a rich, and prosperous, and wide-sj)read home in 
Kentucky taken from him, and, what was worse, al- 
lowed to be taken by those who must, by their in- 
telligence and circumstances, have known Boone's 
inestimable services, he went back to the woodcraft 
of his early life with a determination that he would 
concentrate himself within his family. While in 
Kentucky — as he had been its first man — he might 
have cherished the idea that the gratitude of a peo- 
ple would always surround his home, and give him 
always an honorable position. This hope was taken 
away, and he found in his rifle a companion, associate 
with all his stirring days — the days when he was a 



337 

leader in Kentucky, and not as now an exile from it. 
Mr. Peck thus sketches some of the habits of the 
hunter of those days : 

" I have often seen him get up early in the morning at 
this season, walk hastily out^ and look anxiously to the 
woods, and snuff the autumnal winds with the highest rap- 
ture ; then return into the house, and cast a quick and atten- 
tive look at the rifle, which was always suspended to a joist 
by a couple of buck horns, or little forks. The hunting dog, 
understanding the intentions of his master, would wag his 
tail, and by every blandishment in his power, express his 
readiness to accompany him to the woods. A day was soon 
appointed for the march of the cavalcade to the camping 
place. Two or three horses, furnished with pack-saddles, 
were loaded with flour, Indian meal, blankets, and every- 
thing requisite for the use of the hunter." 

We are accustomed to speak of Boone as the old 
Hunter. He lived, it is pleasant to reflect, to a very 
old age, but when he left Kentucky, he was yet in 
middle life ; or, at least, only on the verge of what 
men call late in life. If he left in 1790, he was fifty- 
five. His residence in the Kenhawa country has left 
few memorials ; but it appears that his new home was 
not exempt from the perils of his border life. It 
would seem as if he was always to be of those whose 
days are encompassed with peril. A report reached 
Philadelphia in 1793, that, by an incnrsion of the In- 
dians into the Kenhawa country, Col. Boone had been 
O 22 



338 LIFE OF DAXlli.1. BOONE. 

made prisoner or killed. Kenbawa was far away 
from the best informed newspaper, and the colonel 
only shared the fate which has occurred to almost 
every distinguished person, of being killed prema- 
turely by the types. He, in all probability, taught 
the Indian that he had not forgotten the aim by which 
he had carried desolation in their ranks, while de- 
fending Boonesborough. 

UiDon the Kenhawa Gen. Washington had a large 
tract of land. That great man had just estimate of 
the value of the West, and of those who formed the 
settlement of man there. He had a sympathy with 
the Hunter, for he was ever fond of those pursuits 
which required the development of the man. He had 
known what were the experiences of those who were 
compelled to travel the illimitable forest — to watch 
for their life every hour — to conquer the savage in 
his own domain, and to stand alone in the land, far 
away from the haunts of men. Such scenes formed 
part of the education of George Washington. He 
and Boone knew what the mountains of Virginia 
were, and had the modest and unobtrusive Pioneer 
found his way to the Father of his Country, and told 
him that the Kentucky he had discovered had denied 
him a home, he would have taught him that he had 
found a friend. 

In many things Yirginia had, in her citizen of the 
Kenhawa, a companion to her own famous Captain 



BOONE AND SMITH OOiirARED. 339 

John Smith. Like the bold and adventurous founder 
of her greatness, Boone had been alone, a negotiator 
between the Indian and the white man, and had at- 
tained such mastery over the mind of the savage, as 
to win him, when other men would have been sacri- 
ficed at once. Like Boone, Smith dared the perils 
of the wilderness, relying, under Heaven, on his 
knowledge of the Lidian character, and his bold self- 
possession. Like him, he at once asserted the superi- 
ority of the military character of the civilized man, 
by placing around the settler the protection of a fort. 
Both of them were men who were eminently calcula- 
ted to take the leadership in the daring enterprises 
by which the savage is made to know the existence 
and power of the white man. To Boone the task 
was more difficult, in some respects, than to Smith, 
because the Indian, in the day of the former, had 
learned the practice, and the very s-killful practice, of 
the weapons of the whites, while, in the time of 
Smith, they were unacquainted with the use of iron ; 
and instead of the glittering tomahawk hurled through 
the air, or the fatal lead, the clumsy stone hatchet 
and the rude bow and arrow constituted the armory 
of the Indian. If the history be a comment on the 
skill and wisdom of the direction given to the begin- 
ning of the enterprise, the success of Boone would re- 
flect even greater honor on his name, than has been 
shed on that of Smith, for while the colony of John 



340 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOHE. 

Smith in seventeen years was reduced from nine thou- 
sand to eighteen hundred, in that time Boone found 
that the woods in which he had walked alone — the 
one living representation of civilized man — had been 
changed to the thronged haunts of a busy and a pros 
perous people. 

Yirginia did not long retain her illustrious citizen. 
While pursuing his ordinary routine of life — the pio- 
neer and the hunter intermingled — there came those 
to his home w^ho told him of the glories of the Upper 
Louisiana — of the country which was held by Spain 
— and it seems to have been the destiny of that coun- 
try to grasp for a time the richest treasures of the ^ 
New "World, only to see them pass from her, just as 
their noble capacity to be the seat of empire was in 
development. The visitors to Boone described to 
him Iiow free and ?ibundant were all in tliat land, that 
could attract the settler and thelumter, and he roused 
to think that* there was yet an opportunity left for 
him, at the age of five and lifty, to reenact, in some 
measure, tlie bold forest part in which lie had so 
stirringly entered when the page of life opened 
to him. 

Other circumstances tended to give his mind a fa- 
vorable bias to those who told such glowing stories 
of the new country on the Missouri. The Mississppi 
would be between him and the chicanery by which 
he had been deprived of the home for which he had 



CONTKMrLATED REMOVAL TO MISSOUUI. 341 

given liis best days in Kentucky. Of liis sons — the 
briglit and bold boy tliat had accompanied him when 
he first led his neighbors of the Yadkin across the 
mountain, lay in his rude grave, where he had so 
strangely and so suddenly finished his career; the 
next had left an honored name to illustrate the roll 
of the dead at the fatal battle of* the Blue Licks ; the 
next had already gone, in the active destinies of life, 
to seek a home in the beyond Mississippi lands, to 
which these travelers now invited his father, nor is 
it unlikely that the message to come was from this 
eon. Boone, to whom erroneous .history has given 
the character of the misanthrope, was the very man 
to be influenced by the pleasant hope of meeting and 
living with those whose ties to him were those of near 
and dear kindred. 

Boone was aware that the country to which they 
invited him was under the control of a foreign power, 
but he had observed events closely, and he felt as- 
sured that the time was near, when the inefficient and 
remote Spanish rule would be exchanged for that of 
the States. He says "it was the country, not the 
government, of which he was in pursuit." The fron- 
tier-men in those days understood the doctrine of 
" manifest destiny," as thoroughly as do those of our 
own time. Indeed, while we think we are discover- 
ing new scenes of history, it does but turn in a circle, 
and with different coloring the same grouping is pre- 



&4:^ LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

sented. The interval of years between the scenes is 
80 great, that the actors and audience forget the past, 
and imagine themselves the only ones that have ever 
raised the cnrtain. 

His visitors told aim of the simplicity of Spanish 
law. This touched the Pioneer. If there was a coun- 
try within his reach where the range of land was free 
— or not within the grasp of such men as had, as he 
thought, unjustly deprived him of his possessions — 
he was yet young enough to make his abode there. 
The hunter spirit within him was roused by the de- 
scription of the buffalo and the deer. It seemed as 
if he should see again what he had beheld in Ken- 
tucky, when he first came to its woods. He had left 
such trace in its forests that the memory of it is pre- 
served to this day. 

Evidently, when Boone was settled in Kentucky, he 
had no desire to go elsewhere ; but having been com- 
pelled to leave there, he felt no such attachment to 
the Kenhawa, as to render a sacrifice necessary in 
quitting it. That Boone did believe himself truly at 
home, and for life, when in Kentucky, the words show 
in which he concludes his own narrative. 

" I now live in peace and safety, enjoying the 
sweets of liberty, and the bounties of Providence, 
with my once fellow-sufferers^ in this delightful coun- 
try, which I have seen purchased at a vast expense 
of blood and treasure, delighting in the prospect of 



34:3 

being, in a short time, one of the opulent and power- 
ful States on the continent of ]S"orth America, which, 
with the love and gratitude of my countrymen, I 
deem a sufficient reioard for all my toil and danger P 

That dream soon broke up. The land speculator 
stepped forward as the representative of " the love 
and gratitude of his countrymen," and Boone was 
again a wanderer. 

That Boone, in determining to remove to the Span- 
ish territory, deemed his relinquishment of American 
citizenship but a temporary affair, and calculated 
clearly the issue of forthcoming events, is proved by 
tlie language of Filson, in his own account of the 
"Discovery, settlement, and present state of Ken- 
tucky," published as early as 1784, and which work, 
it is expressly stated, was carefully revised by Boone. 
Filson says : 

" New Orleans is in the possession of the Spaniards, who, 
whenever they please, may make use of that fort, and some 
others they have on the Mississippi, to prevent the naviga- 
tion, and ruin the trade. The passage through Iberville is 
also subject to the Spaniards, and, besides, inconvenient; 
that stream continuing so short a time, and in the most dis- 
advantageous seasons, 

" I grant it will be absurd to expect a free navigation of 
the Mississippi, whilst the Spaniards are in possession of 
New Orleans. To suppose it is an idea calculated to impose 
only upon the weak. They may perhaps trade with us upon 
their own terms while they think it consistent with their iu- 



344 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOXE. 

terest, but no friendship in trade exists when interest ex 
pires ; therefore, when the western country becomes popu- 
lous, and ripe for trade, sound policy tells us the Floridas 
must be ours, too. According to the articles of the Defini- 
tive Treaty, we are to have a free and unmolested navigation 
of th^ Mississippi ; but experience teaches mankind that 
treaties are not always to be depended upon, the most sol- 
emn being broken. Hence, we learn that no one such put 
much foith in any state j and the trade and commerce of the 
Mississippi river cannot be so well secured in any other pos- 
session as our own." 

Anthony "Wayne (Mad Anthony, a title his bold- 
ness won for him, from a world which usually calls a 
man mad, when he dares to do more than the indo- 
lent or cowardly,) had, in his victory over the Indians 
at the rapids of the Miami, beaten them into a peace. 
At last the Indian was conquered, and felt, even to 
despair, that it was in vain to contend with the civil- 
ized man. Jay's treaty seemed to secure, by the sur- 
render of the north-western posts, all the advantages 
to Kentucky which could result from the security of 
property. 

Kentucky, ^ wearied by what was fervently believed 
by her people to be the want of firmness in the 
federal government, had no> question agitating it more 
deeply than whether it was not her duty independ- 
ently to take such measures as would lead to the free 
navigation of the Mississippi. 

All the signs pointed to the West, beyond the Great 



THE GREAT WEST. 



3i5 



E-iver, as the scene of bold and stirring adventure, 
and Boone may have had re^ilhiminated within him, 
the thought in which he had years before found his 
guiding influence, that he was an instrument ordained 
to settle the wilderness. Kentucky had been settled, 
but there remained even a greater in the broad land 
beyond the mighty water. 
O* 




OHAPTEE XIX. 

BCX)NE E-NnGRATES WITH HIS FAMILY TO MISSOURI THE JOURNEY — SPAN* 

ISn POSSESSION OF THE TERRITORY — INJUSTICE TO BOONe's SOCIAL CHAR 

ACTER BOONE IS WELCOMED TO MISSOURI BY THE SPANISH LIEUTENAKT 

GOVERNOR — • ARRIVAL AT ST. LOUIS OF LACLEDE AND CHOTEAU — BOONB 

RECEIVES AN APPOINTMENT FROM THE AUTHORITIES HE IS PRESENTED 

WITH A LARGE TRACT OF LAND BY THE LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR HE NEG- 
LECTS TO GO TO NEW ORLEANS TO GET HIS GRANT CONFIRMED. 

In 1795, Daniel Boone made the fourth great re- 
move of his life. He had sought homes in Carolina, 
Kentucky, and Yirginia, and now determined to es- 
say the great land of Upper Louisiana. The settler 
in that day, found neither railway nor canal for the 
transportation of his goods, and therefore concentra- 
ted his moveables into the smallest space possible. 
His admirable wife accompanied him. She had done 
so when he left for the wilderness of Kentucky, and 
there was no remove now where she would not be at 
his side. She could not be called to greater perils 
than had encompassed her at Boonesborough. 

It was a long, long journey. It would be a journey 
of some magnitude in this day of easy transit. How 
much more in that time, when almost all modern con- 
veniences were imknown ; for, at the close of the las4 



BOONE EMIGRATES TO MI8S0IJKI. 347 

century, the arrangements for the road had but faint 
approach to their' present luxury. The railroad was 
ouly doing duty in some cavernous coal mine in Eng- 
land ; and the canal system was but in the specula- 
tions of Morris, and Troup, and "Watson. Boone had 
traveled long journeys, when every step of the way 
was in immediate danger of the rifle of a murderous 
savage ; when the day brought the Indian, and the 
night the wild beast. He therefore had no fear of his 
present journeying, but having determined on making 
this bold step — this new beginning of life — he left 
Virginia, leaving behind him one son. 

It does not appear that during his residence in "Vir- 
ginia he experienced any unkind treatment in relation 
to the laud upon which he was living. As has been sta- 
ted, the Indians would not remain quiet ; but to dwell 
in the midst of such alarms, had become to the Pio- 
neer as a habit of life, and it was a danger for which 
he was prepared. But Virginia was an old State, 
and in her no new country was to be found. He 
went to where much broader scale of action could 
be his. 

Voltaire wrote a poem to which he gave the glit- 
tering title of the Temple of Glory. It was written 
to celebrate the triumphs of the battle of Fontenay, 
and to pour fulsome adulation before the monarch, 
Louis XV. That temple, if it exhibited the achieve- 
ments of the luxurious king, was sadly marred from 



34:8 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOIirE. 

its fair proportions by tlie treaty —tlie family compact 
of 1762, wliicli ceded Louisiana to Spain. In that 
day tlie world had not learned the great lesson the 
first page of which opened to their study, when the 
American Declaration recognized the principle of the 
government of the people. Countries' were yet the 
playthings of kings ; and although war followed with 
all its horror in the consequences, the caprice of a 
despot rather than the will of a nation, swayed public 
affairs. 

Spain took possession in the same year, 1769, in 
which Boone left the Yadkin, to display the West to 
the domain of civilized man. The two events, how- 
ever great the one and humble the other, were con- 
nected in their results. It was the same year in 
which that man was born, by whose masterly move- 
ment the great land, of which Spain took such feeble 
guardianship, was thrown into the hands of the States 
— not from love to them, but that they might the 
better rival England. 

Charles HI. became the monarch of Louisiana, and 
the Spanish law was introduced, and the Spanish rule 
recognized. Tliat monarch was, however, in those 
days,. too busy with his great measure of the expul- 
eion of the Jesuits, to trouble himself much about a 
■country which, as it sent him no gold, was not likely 
to be popular at court ; and yet it cannot be but that 
the explorations of the men to whom he was then ap- 



HIS REASONS. 349 

plying a measure of rigor that filled Europe with as- 
tonishment, must have taught him, that in the pos- 
session of the control of the Mississippi River, he held 
a dominion of vast consequence, and one which re- 
vived the glories of the day of Columbus. 

Flint says, that on the journey, Boone -was asked 
his reason for leaving the country that had become 
settled, and proceeding to the wilds of Missouri, and 
that his answer was — "Too much crowded — too 
crowded ; I want more elbow room." This remark 
has been often quoted, as an evidence that he was 
displeased at the society of his fellow-men, and 
plunged into the forest to avoid them. 

Mr. Willis, in a poem published in 1827, the pur- 
l^ort of which is the delineation of the Pioneer, as 
an American Alexander Selkirk, represents him as 
saying — . 

"I've hated men — I hate them now." 

And for many years it was believed that such was the 
feeling of Daniel Boone towards his race ! while in 
the midst of the open hatred of the savage, and the 
sharp cunning and oppression of the land-jobber, the 
Pioneer moved on, kind and pleasant, and loving his 
kindred ; and, although contending for his life among 
the savages, so truthful and wise in his conduct to- 
wards them, as to exercise over them an influence 
like Corlear. 



850 LIFE OF DAl^IEL BOONE. 

It was for small men and small minds to hate tlieir 
fellow-beings. Boone, when men injured him, step- 
ped out of their way, and sought the new friendships 
of distant territory. The remark which Flint quotes 
may have been, and it is likely that it was, the cheer- 
ful jocularity of the Hunter, who chose thus to an- 
swer, rather than to tell the inquirer, that the Ken- 
tucky he had reared, had neglected and driven him 
forth. Such men as was Boone, too well knew the 
priceless value of the kindred of humanity, to cherish 
hate or dread of their fellow-beings. 

The travel of the Pioneer led him through a long 
succession of those lands which, by the wise policy 
of the government, are now so filled up with all that 
gives a country a prosperous population. Boone saw 
that "when he had called his fellow-citizens to Ken- 
tucky, he had but welcomed them to the threshold of 
the great domain, and with all the vicissitudes which 
had fallen to his lot, it was his glory to know that he 
had opened the way, and that while his claim to a 
home had been set aside for deviation from some 
conventional line, his right of discovery actually 
gave him a title to all, such as, had he been a 
monarch, the world would not have disputed. He 
crossed the Mississippi, and soon found himself at the 
house of his son, Daniel M. Boone, who had so much 
of his father's strong-hearted enterprise, that he had 



HIS ARRIVAL IN MISSOURI. 351 

placed himself in this new country successfully, some 
time previous. 

Charles TV. probably never heard in the midst of 
the pleasures of his palace, or his perplexities, at Mad- 
rid, of the accession to his subjects of the great Pioneer 
of the West. That there had come to his dominions 
the man, who, emulating on land what Columbus had 
achieved at sea, had pushed his way beyond all oth- 
ers into a wilderness, more frightful in its dangers 
than the wild ocean itself, did not reach the king, and 
it is scarcely probable that the name of Boone had 
ever been uttered within the royal walls. 

And yet Time writes fair histories. In the years 
that have elapsed, this Fourth Charles has a very im- 
material grasp on the recollections of mankind. Per- 
haps he is oftenest recollected, if at all, by those who 
spell out his half-effaced superscription — the legend 
which surrounds his effigy — on the ''Spanish quar- 
ter," that still circulates in the community, while the 
name of him who, for a time, owed him allegiance, is 
a household word — the name that rises quickest to 
our lips when we are to speak of those whose courage 
and enterprise opened the way to the West — the 
great heart of the country. 

If the monarch had no thought of Boone, his fame 
was not unknown to the representative of his power. 
Don Charles D. Delorne, the lieutenant governor, 
welcomed him to the territory. He knew very well 



352 LIFE OF DANIEL BOOKE. 

who the Pioneer was, and he knew that when it became 
toown that this eminent man had sought an home in 
this territory, it would be the means of encouraging 
others ; and the presence of the American was desi- 
rable. It was feared that the British and Indians, 
having made peace with the United States, might con- 
sider it advisable to commence hostilities against the 
Spanish possessions. To such a foe, the Spaniard 
could interpose no guard so powerful as that of the 
bold men who had learned the art of Indian war in 
the settlements of Kentucky. The military force of 
the province was mostly at ISTew Orleans. It was a 
far, far way to that city. It was somewhat easy to go 
down thither, for the strong current of the Missis- 
sippi is not an invention of modern times, but to re- 
turn was almost the impossibility, and long before as- 
sistance against the foe could be brought thence, the 
Indian, reeking with his bloody trophies, might have 
accomplished his foray and returned to the shelter of 
Quebec. So Boone, and men of liis education in bor- 
der warfare, were the very visitors and residents that 
Don Charles desired to see ; and when Boone came 
to St. Louis — even then recognized as the great key 
of the West — the lieutenant governor assured him 
of a generous landed provision at once, for himself 
and family. The government officer knew that 
others would follow when Boone led, and that his 
counsel and experience in the case of difficulty with 



HE IS KINDLY RECEIVED. 353 

the Indians, would be worth more than the theories 
of a legion of those who might be sent bj the crown 
to try, in the forests of Missouri, the old-fashioned 
tactics which had been successful at Goret, and An- 
daga, and Truillas. 

When, in 1754, Laclede landed at the point where 
St. Louis now spreads it long array of commerce — 
of wealth — of architectural elegance — of long ave- 
nues, teeming with life and vigor — he could not 
have thought that there was by his side, one whose 
age would be extended to a period when that locality, 
passing alternately from France to Spain, and thence 
to the control of the Man of Destiny, and from him 
to the plain republican, Jefferson, would take rank 
among the great cities of the earth. Pierre Choteau, 
a name honored to this day, and in this day, by the 
close relation it bears to the prosperity of the west, 
came with Laclede, and survived to take part in an 
immense procession in which the strength of the pop- 
ulation of St. Louis united. In Mr. Choteau's remi- 
niscences the incidents and strange events which cha- 
racterized the history of a country passing peaceably 
through so many masteries, were embodied, and Mis- 
souri can never hold that page in her annals value- 
less, which bears record of the welcome her authori- 
ties gave to the great Pioneer. 

Col. Boone placed his residence in the Femme 
Osage district where he found his son, and looking 

23 



854: LIFE OF DAITIEL BOONE. 

around him, in his new home, felt that he had como 
where the patliway to justice was less perplexed than 
his experience had proved it to be in the land he once 
called his own. The quiet simplicity of the habits 
of the people soon attracted the notice of the Pio- 
neer, and they coincided with his own. They were 
a "frank, open-hearted, unsuspecting, joyous people." 
The Spanish authorities gave to Boone the position of 
commandant of the district. It was an office of civil 
and military power. It was such an one as the lieu- 
tenant governor knew was well bestowed, for the mili- 
tary knowledge possessed by Boone was peculiarly 
that which in the guardianship of such a district, was 
most desirable ; and in the management of land titles 
the Pioneer was likely of all men to be most direct 
and fair. 

His commission is dated July 11th, 1800. His du- 
ties did not, in a country where there were but few 
laws, absorb all his time. The old Syndic — for he 
was now sixty-five years of age — could promptly 
settle such differences as came before him. The hun- 
ters could not appeal from a decision made by a man 
who had, in their judgment, a reputation equal to 
that of the proudest in the land ; for he had con- 
quered the savage, and was, perhaps, of all the men 
in the country, the first hunter himself. The emigra- 
tion had poured into the Upper Missouri by its thou- 
uanda^ and thD^ vho came brought with them those 



APPOINTED TO OFFICE. 355 

recollections of the acliievements of Boone wliicli by 
this time had, through the work of | Imlay, and the 
intercourse of an augmented population, invested him 
"with an heroic reputation. 

And now it seemed as if, in his advancing years, 
such an estate would at least be his, as was somewhat 
commensurate with the value of his services to the 
west, or at least in recognition of them. Generally 
once in life, what we call good fortune approaches to 
every man. Any one who will closely and accurately 
bring before him the events of his term on earth, will 
remember some period when he might have been the 
possessor of property. Of course he will, with the 
recollection, have its companion memory that his 
folly, or his ignorance, or his negligence, put aside the 
opportunity. Sometimes, without his own act, the 
violence, or oppression, or perfidy of another has 
turned the hand past the golden moment. 

Once before Boone had been the possessor of land 
— land which of all must have been most prized by 
him ; for it was in sight of the gem of complete con 
quest — the little fort, with which his courage as a 
soldier was so intimately connected, and which was 
in the midst of Kentucky, to whose development he 
had given his best years. 

And this he had lost — lost by the neglect of those 
who had built themselves up in the foundation he had 
made. A new possession was now before him. Do» 



356 LIFE OF DAKIEL BOOlfK. 

Charles marked out and gave to him eight thousand 
five hundred acres of land, on the north side of the 
Missouri Eiver. If Flint's anecdote is correct, that 
he stated that he desired elbow room, he had it in 
this noble tract. 

By the simple law of the province, tlie possessor 
of land, to complete his title, was to build on some 
part of it, in a year and a day, a house. It was a 
wise provision, for it secured that the land should be 
put in use, and the evils of a great uncultivated ter-. 
ritory were guarded against. But Don Charles did 
not require this of Boone, because his official duty 
might seem to require his presence elsewhere. 

A further step was, however, necessary. At the 
city of the province, I^ew Orleans, was the authority 
that immediately represented the crown, and applica- 
tion there was necessary to make the grant complete. 

Boone did not make the journey necessary to pre- 
sent this application, and he has been blamed for this, 
as an act of negligence. Even at this date, with all 
the facility that Fulton has furnished, a journey from 
St. Louis to New Orleans, is something to be consid- 
ered by an old man ; or if from the extraordinary 
fleetness and superb arrangements of the great stea- 
mers now on the route, the comparison can not be 
made, in the beginning of this century Fulton and 
Fitch were enduring the scorn of a wise world foi 
even — in words easy to say — expressing their belief 



NEGLECTS TO SECURE HIS GRANT. 357 

of tlie possibility of the future triumphs of steam 
The Pejtona and Capt. Shallcross were unknown at 
St. Louis. 

The language of the m§morial subsequently pre- 
sented by the Pioneer to the Legislature of Kentucky, 
indicated that before he left Yirginia, the Spanish au- 
thorities had held out assurances that, if he came to 
dwell in their country, he should have " ample por- 
tions of land for himself and his family." Indeed, 
it shows that Don Lenon Trudeau invited him thith- 
er — knowing, as he did, what would be his value as 
a citizen. 

He knew the friendly feeling of the lieutenant go- 
vernor towards him, and he may h^ve thought that, 
as there had been a readiness to overlook the techni- 
cality of a personal residence, his grant would be 
good in any event, even though he did not undertake 
the formidable journey. And to him it was such. It 
was a distance of thousands of miles, and into a coun- 
try to which his habits had not led him. He thought 
the friendship of Don Charles sufficient, without un- 
dertaking at his age a further mission to Governor 
Carondelet- More than this : he awaited, as a sure 
result, the forthcoming power of the United States 
to be extended over his new home, and he could not 
but believe that his grant would be undisturbed. So 
he did not go to 'New Orleans, but remained dischar- 



358 



LIFE CF DANIEL EOONE. 



ging his duties as syndic or commandant to the last 
moment of Spanish power. 

The easy French people around him must have 
liked the dynasty of the pioneer. Like themselves, 
plain and simple hearted, he had achieved " glory," 
and this would awaken their enthusiasm. He was 
contented, and found his pleasure in the quiet hori- 
zon which bounded their hopes and desires — and all 
this assimilated to them. 

That must have been a quiet and an orderly peo- 
ple when An their closest population, (St. Louis,) Mr. 
Peck relates " but two locks were necessary — the 
one on the calabozo, (known to modern police annals 
as the calaboose,) *and the other on the government 
house." 




CHAPTEE XX. 

rHK VICISITUDES OF BOONe's LIFE SALE OF LOUISIANA TO THE UNITED 

STATES BOONE REVISITS KENTUCKY HE PAYS OFF HIS CREDITORS ^ 

RETURNS HOME THE SOLITARY HUNTER EXPOSURE TO DANGER AS A 

TRAPPER HIS HUNTING EXCURSION TO THE OSAGE RIVER HE IS AGAIN 

DEPRIVED OF HIS LAND BY LAND COMMISSIONERS HIS EDUCATION HIS 

CHILDREN. 

In 1800, tlie Emperor ITapoleon obtained possession 
of the province of Louisiana. Boone thus added to 
his experiences that, after having been a subject of 
George II. and George III. — a citizen of the United 
States, (including a citizenship of Transylvania, of 
somewhat doubtful nationality,) — an adopted son and 
citizen of the Shawanese — a subject of Charles lY. 
of Spain — he now found himself one of the many 
who, in all civilization, augmented the " glory of the 
Empire." 

The hour had come when he was to find himself 
again enfolded in the protection of the States, some 
of whose most desperate battles he had fought. 

The sale of a great country like that of Louisiana — 
including the noblest river that rolls beneath the 
sun — by the will of one man, has magnificence about 
it. It is supremacy and sovereignty in its high es- 



360 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

tate.' [N'apoleon foresaw that his true dominion was 
on the land, and that Europe, and such portion of 
Asia as his armies could readily reach, was to be the 
seat of empire for his acquisition and grasp. The 
prowess of the English at sea he knew well, for he 
was not the man to be dazzled or misled by the pre- 
tensions of those who could not perform. Louisiana 
lay too far off to be protected by any force except 
such as should derive its support from a naval power, 
and he appreciated that the commerce of the Missis- 
sippi was a prize which, in England's hands, would 
be used vastly to augment her wealth and power. 
What he planned was rapidly done, and when he had 
delighted and astonished the American commissioners 
by a sale of Louisiana to the United States, he exult- 
ingly and prophetically said, he had given England a 
rival ; and every hour his prophecy is building up 
into truth. 

But for such motive, he would not have thus lightly 
sold a territory more extensive than some of the most 
powerful European kingdoms. He truly gave to the 
world a rival to England. The country he sold is 
now rapidly fulfilling the duty he assigned to it, and 
the years are but few in advance, when the great 
wealth of the East will traverse it, and England real- 
ize the full consequences involved in the movement 
of the emperor. 

Boone, in 1804, found himself once more a citizen 



SALE OF LOUISIANA. 361 

of the Republic. The lower province had undergone 
a rapid change of masters in 1803, somewhat after the 
fashion of the nursery song — 

" Out of Spain, into France" — 

and in the subsequent year, the upper province was 
placed under the command of Maj. Stoddard, of the 
United States army, and in a short time the laws of 
the Union were in force. 

It is the attribute of true greatness to know, and to 
be in the regulation of, the small affairs of his Kfe, as 
well as the larger movements on which the eye of so- 
ciety is fixed. There never was a man so attentive to 
all his concerns — whether it was the sharpening of 
an axe on his farm, or the execution of a treaty — as 
George Washington. 

Boone was reduced and impoverished when he left 
Kentucky, by being deprived of his property — by 
numberless expenses of litigation — by feeing law- 
yers — by the thousand items of expenditure winch 
wait upon a failing and falling house. He felt this 
burthen. He was away — so far away from his cre- 
ditors that it was very doubtful whether they would 
ever mention his indebtedness again to him. The 
merchants were not exactly of that class, whose bu^- 
ness would afford their absence on a " collecting 
tour." 

Boone cared not for their silence or their disability 
P 



362 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. * 

to enforce their claims. He took his rifle — the foi 
ests of Missouri were full of game. He hunted lou^ 
and far, and at last realized such a stock as would 
bring him the monev he needed. At this day, the 
hunter comes into St. Louis — looks about him at the 
busy and crowded streets — sees in the city only a 
convenience, and strikes off for his free forest again. 
The old Pioneer revisited Kentucky. It had great- 
ly changed since he felled the trees to erect Boones- 
. borough. Transylvania was forgotten or only remem- 
bered as a curious piece of history. Within a short 
distance of his old home, in Lexington, was a young 
xnan — slow, delicate, feeble, languid — and giving 
but faint promise of his possession of that tremendous 
energy by which, in after years, he bore the name 
of Clay to all languages where the statesman and 
the orator could be known. Other great men had 
made Kentucky their home. Her wars over, all the 
glories of the land that Boone had eulogized were in 
rapid exhibition. Men talked about banks and inter- 
nal improvements. Luxury was pressing its velvet 
foot on the wilds where it had been unknown. The 
lawyer had settled the titles of the land of the Ken- 
tons and Boones, and as their claim had been set 
aside, that of the more successful and shrewder opera- 
tor had all certainty accorded it. Kenton's land the 
State took for taxes ; Boone's was gone before even 
that later civi]ization reached it. 



KETUKNS TO KENTUCKY AND PAi'S IliS DEBTS. 363 

The Pioneer moved about securely, and without 
grasping his rifle. lie slept, and no yell of horror 
awoke him. They had harvested wxll what he had 
ploughed. He felt that Kentucky had ceased to be his 
home. Like a true-hearted man, he sought out his 
creditors, and taking their word for the statement, 
paid what was demanded, and returned. He had 
fully cleared the neighborhood from any unkind mem- 
ories of the man who had defended them, at the risk 
of all there was in life. 

Returning home — though his journey and its ex- 
penses had nearly left him without a coin — he ex- 
pressed the utmost satisfaction that he had rendered 
it impossible for any one to reproach his memory with 
dishonesty. 

While residing in Missouri, and before age had so 
impaired his sight as to make the chase impracti- 
cable, he hunted with a boldness that was kindred to 
the day when he dared to remain five hundred miles 
away from the abodes of white men, alone, and no 
other near him. Far away — far off — even in that 
w^ild Missouri, which, itself, was deemed almost be- 
yond the reach of civilization, and which to the At- 
lantic States, is even now a remote region, Boone, 
now on the verge of three score years and ten, hunted 
alone. In his solitary canoe, he seemed, as he caused 
it to dart over the surface of that great river — tho 
Missouri — as if he was the embodiment of the forth 



364 LIFE OF DA_N1EL BOONE. 

coming power of the wliite mau. The ludiiui that saw 
the old Hunter, did not realize that he was tlie man 
whose name had been a word of the wigwam, when 
as jet the Indian refused to believe that his empire 
over the forest was at an end. 

The beaver trap led him to great exposure. As if 
it was his destiny to the very end of his life to feel 
the power of the savage, he was compelled to use the 
utmost vigilance to prevent his camp from being dis- 
covered by the Indians of the North-west, who, had 
they found him, might either abruptly have finished 
his earthly career, or have taken hmi into a captivity 
so remote tliat the Pioneer's strange disappearance 
from among men would have formed fertile theme for 
legend and story. The Indian of the ]^orth-west 
had a far, far country, in which to hide from the 
eye of the keenest white, the object of their cap- 
tivities. 

He concealed liis camp by never kindling a lire in 
the day, but reserving all use of it till night. The 
man who had studied the Indians and the woods for 
sixty years, had no lack of expedients and stratagem. 
In this beaver trapping he was for a long time en- 
tirely alone. It was renewing the scenes of thirty 
years before. When he was disturbed at other times 
by the Indian, he so thoroughly offered resistance that 
the savage found that old age had not crushed the 
soldier of Boonesborough. We quote Mr. Peck's de- 



SICK IN THE WILDERNESS. 365 

scription of anotlier scene in his old age's hunting 
experiences : 

" On another occasion, he took pack-horses, and went to 
the country on the Osage River, taking for a camp-keeper a 
negro boy, about twelve or fourteen years of age. Soon af- 
ter preparing his camp and laying in his supplies for the 
winter, he was taken sick and lay a long time in camp. The 
horses were hobbled out on the range. After a period of 
stormy weather, there came a pleasant and delightful day, and 
Boone felt able to walk out. With his staff (for he was quite 
feeble) he took the boy to the summit of a small eminence, 
and marked out the ground in shape and size of a grave, and 
then gave the following directions. He instructed the boy, 
in case of his death, to wash and lay his body straight, wrap- 
ped up in one of the cleanest blankets. He was then to con- 
struct a kind of shovel, and with that instrument and the 
hatchet, to dig a grave exactly as he had marked it out. He 
was then to drag the body to the place, and put it in the 
grave, which he was directed to cover up, putting posts at 
the head and foot. Poles were to be placed around and 
above the surface ; the trees to be marked, so that it could 
be easily found by his friends ; the horses were to be caught, 
the, blankets and skins gathered up; with some special in- 
structions about the old rifle, and various messages to his 
family. All these directions were given, as the boy after- 
terwards declared, with entire calmness, and as if he was 
giving instructions about ordinary business. He soon re- 
covered, broke up his camp, and returned homeward, with- 
out the usual signs of a winter's hunt." 

He was soon destined to receive what to him was 
another confirmation of the great injustice of apply- 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ing to every individual case the severities of a lega^ 
rule. The United States directed an able commission 
— John B. C. Lucas, Clement Penrose, Frederick 
Bates — to investigate into the validity of the claims 
to land granted by the action of the Spanish govern- 
ment. To many of the settlers, this seemed like a 
revival of the troubles they had experienced under 
the Kentucky, or rather the Virginia, land laws. To 
Boone it proved so, for his claim was declared invalid. 
The commissioners were bound to regulate their ac- 
tion by the rules laid down in the law of Congress, 
and, in those days. Congress held the policy which 
governed the framing of the first pension laws, where- 
by a revolutionary soldier had to prove himself a most 
decayed and bankrupt pauper, before he became en- 
titled to the bounty of his country. The laws were 
rigid upon the settler ; while the true policy would 
have been to have so prepared their language that no 
real settler in the State, by his acts showing that he 
was absolutely a settler, desiring either for himself or 
his family to make use of his land, should be exclu- 
ded. The Congress that passed the law ought to have 
reflected that the most worthy of the frontier-men, 
were just those who would be least likely to know the 
niceties of the law. 

When Boone was sustaining the horrors, night and 
day, of forest fight and siege, he had no leisure to 
Btudy the nice provisions of the laws which Yirginia 



AGAIN LOSES HIS LAND. 367 

was preparing with wln'ch to turn hiin out of tlie 
farm, which he conhi scarcely visit in peace, lest the 
fierce grasp of the Indian should lead him off to tor- 
ture and to death. As Boone had not occupied the 
land, and had not gone to I^ew Orleans to perfect 
this noble donation which the Spanish government 
had given him, the United States determined tliat his 
claim was not good. Worn and harassed by wars 
as Spain was, if it had been rej^resented to the pow- 
ers that ruled the land that sent Columbus out to dis- 
cover a new world, that he who had imitated the 
great discoverer, was compelled to relinquish, for a 
mere informality, the rich gift which Spanish liberality 
had bestowed, the treasury of Madrid would have 
been as low as that of its revolted province of Mexi- 
co, or it would have been decreed that the great Hun- 
ter and Pioneer should not forfeit Spanish generosity. 

Poor Boone ! Seventy-four years old, and the sec- 
ond grasp you have made upon the West has been, 
powerless. You have risked life, and lost the life 
next dearest to your own, for the West. In all its 
fearful forms, death has looked you in tlie face, and 
you have moved on to conquer the soil, which you 
did but conquer that it might be denied to you. 
You have been the architect of the prosperity of oth- 
ers, but your own crumbles each time as you are 
about to occupy. 

Ho had defrauded no man. He had oppressed none^ 



LEFE OF DANIEL BOONE> 

He had submitted to every fortune which had present- 
ed itself, and had gone on rising above every ill fate. 
When his child was killed, he waited patiently till a 
better day should rise. When the cruel Indian held 
him in bitter bondage, he checked every disposition 
to rebel, and awaited his true time. When he lost 
his farm at Boonesborough, he did not linger around 
in complainings, but went quietly away, returning 
only to fulfill the obligations he had incurred ; and 
now this last decision came — even at old age — to 
leave Daniel Boone, the Pioneer of the West, unable 
to give a title deed to a solitary acre ! 

Some time previous to the date (December 1st, 1810,) 
of the rendering of this decision, he had been negoti- 
ating in respect to his land, and Mr. Collins preserves, 
in fao simile^ a curious letter. It is very simple and 
very plain, and while it states the meaning of what 
he intends to say, with sufficient clearness, neither the 
style nor the orthography are to be considered as 
coming within the range of the scholar's acquire- 
ments. A bright man in public life in the State of 
New York once said — My language may not be 
grammatical, hut my facts a/re ! And in relation to 
the virtue of spelling, it is not very uncommon, as 
must be known to all who honor this volume with a 
perusal, that it is not necessary in the character of a 
great man, that he should spell with entire correct- 
ness. If it be, many are those who must descend 



LETTER TO JUDGE COBURN. 360 

from greatness. When Queen Marj was crowned in 
Westminster Abbey, a superb Bible was given lier. 
It is yet in the library at the Hague, and her majesty 
has written this line in the title page — "This book 
was given the king and I, at our croronation.''^ 

The handwriting of this letter is vigorous, and very 
intelligible, for which a little bad orthography at any 
time may be forgiven. 

It indicates that at the time it was written, this old 
hunter was captive to the physician and the calomel, 
as he says he is " deep in markury." ISTotwithstand- 
ing all this evidence that the regular faculty at that 
time extended, either in person or by doctrine, down 
to that far region of St. Charles, he still says that he 
is well and in health. His own constitution was not 
to be put down by a drug. 

This letter is addressed to Judge John Coburn, who 
was a warm friend of Col. Boone, and deserves irrate- 
ful record. He was a thorough friend, and gave per- 
severing evidence of it. He had migrated to Ken- 
tucky in 1784, and liad been engaged in business at 
Lexington. He was a writer of great ability, and 
held responsible and honorable stations from Presi- 
dents Jefferson and Madison. 

How little they know the real cliaracter of Boone 

who think he loved the life of the woods because he 

desired to be alone. His pleasant tliought, amidst 

all his troubles it was, that his chiMren were all now 

• P* 24 



370 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

near him, and what lustre it reflects on the kindly 
old man, that his old age was so attractive to his chil- 
dren that they all clustered around him — bold and 
adventurous men that they were. Major iJTathan 
Boone came to Missouri in 1800. He has since held 
commission in the dragoons, and is living at the date 
of this memoir, a fine representative of his noble- 
hearted father — like him, fond of the stirring forest 
life, and, in many respects, keenly allied in taste and 
habit to that which distinguished his sire. 

What if all governments denied him a possession 
in land ; he was in the society of those who could 
minister to his wants, and by whose side he felt that, 
whoever else forgot him, they would not. But there 
was a duty which he owed to them, for his day of 
enjoyment of great posssessions was gone. IS'o farm 
that the State could give him would suffice for his 
range in the chase. He must have for that the oj^en 
and free forest uncircumscribed, but for the children 
and children's children that were coming into the 
business of life, another effort was to be made. 




CHAPTEE XXI. 

KENTUCKY AS A COMMONWEALTH BOONe's MEMORIAL TO THE LEGISLATUiOl 

AND TO CONGRESS THE JUST RESPONSE OF KENTUCKY DEATH OF MRS. 

BOONE BOONe's TREATMENT AT THE HANDS OF CONGRESS GENERAL 

Lafayette's RECEPTION — the contrast — the old age of boone — 

HIS CHILDREN BOONE A HUNTER AT EIGHTY-TWO ANECDOTE HABD- 

ING's PORTRAIT SICKNESS OF BOONE HIS TEMPORARY RECOVERY AND 

DEATH A RETROSPECT. 

And what was Kentucky now ? From being the 
abode of one white man, surrounded bj hordes of 
savages, it had grown to be the happy residence of 
more than a half million of civilized men, and the In- 
dian had become a stranger and a wonder in his old 
accustomed haunts. The war of the Revolution had 
passed into history, and the powers that had been in 
war had cemented in peace, and were just about to 
break the bond again. The voice of Henry Clay had 
been heard in the Senate, teaching the States of the 
Atlantic, that Kentucky had come to dispute intel- 
lectual superiority with them. The State that could 
scarcely form herself into independency from Yirgin- 
ia, had assumed a position in the ISTational Councils, 
to which the old States paid marked deference. 

Boone did not, would not believe that Kentucky- 
would entirely forget the man that had given such 



372 LIKE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

vast impetus to her progress. lie had prepared tor 
him a memorial to the Legislature of Kentucky. It 
recites in simple language — the dictation and ex- 
pression of his thoughts, though it might not have 
been his composition — his history in connection 
with Kentucky — a brief but earnest word. It came 
to Kentucky at a period when her people were pre- 
paring to do battle against England, not now as a line 
of scattered log huts — of frontier forts, which might 
have been reduced by a six-pounder — but in all the 
strength of a great commonwealth, rich in resources, 
and rich indeed, in the strength and courage of her 
sons. It was the right time for the Defender of 
Boonesborough to address a word to Kentucky. In 
the hour of war, the soldier is recognised. 

He appealed to Kentucky. It was the voice of the 
old man, standing in the midst of the broad and ricli 
land, and pointing to all he had won for those who 
were now in its enjoyment. The memorial was re- 
ferred to a committee of the Senate — that being the 
body to which it had been presented. This commit- 
tee consisted of Messrs. Ewing, Hopkins, Caldwell, 
Bullock, and Walker. While he appealed to Ken- 
tucky, he memorialized Congress — so that his own 
appeal might be seconded and sustained by the pow- 
erful voice of a State which was seldom heard in 
vain ; and that State, in a manner which showed that 
the lapse of years had wrought a great change in the 



RESOLUTION OF THE KENTUCKY LEGISLATURE. 373 

feeling of tlie people, as to their duty towards tlie 
Pioneer, by the unanimous vote of her Legislature 
passed the following preamble and resolution : 

" The Legislature of Kentucky taking into view the many 
eminent services rendered by Col. Boone, in exploring and 
settling the western country, from which great advantages 
have resulted, not only to tliis State, but to his country in 
general, and that from circumstances over which he had no 
control, he is now reduced to poverty ; not having, so far as 
appears, an acre of land out of the vast territory he has been 
a great instrument in peopling ; believing, also, that it is as 
unjust as it i% impolitic, that useful enterprise and eminent 
services should go unrewarded by a government where merit 
confers the only distinction ; and having sufficient reason to 
believe that a grant of ten thousand acres of land, wliich he 
claims in Upper Louisiana, would have been confirmed by 
the Spanish government, had not said territory passed, by 
cession, into the hands of the general government : wherefore, 

"Resolved, by the General Assembly of the Common 
wealth of Kentucky, That our Senators in Congress be re- 
quested to make use of their exertions to procure a grant of 
land in said territory, to said Boone, either the ten thousand 
acres, to which he appears to have an equitable claim, from 
the groimds set forth to this Legislature, by way of comfirm- 
ation, or to such quantity in such place as shall be deemed 
most advisable, by way of donation." 

The language of the preamble is just in Kentucky. 
It was grateful to the old man. It effaced many ideas 
of neglect ; though it does not appear that in all his 
life Col. Boone evsr complained of his country. He 



374 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

had too mucli native dignity of character to fall into 
that error. This declaration by Kentucky recites that 
not only the State, but the whole country in general, 
had derived great advantages from his acts. They 
who were then representing the j)eople of Kentucky 
— a great and powerful State — realized by the differ- 
ent scenes that surrounded them, to those that en- 
compassed the little legislature of Transylvania, when 
it met beneath the great tree at Boonesborough, what 
Boone had done for them. When such an illustrious 
authority as Gov. Morehead — one who has in the na- 
tion borne the highest legislative honors, and in his 
own State the highest honor the people of Kentucky 
could bestow — when he says that " it is not assuming 
too much to say, that witJwut hirtiy in all jprdbahility^ 
ths settlements could not have "been ujpheld^ and the 
conq^uest of Kentucky might have leen reserved for the 
emigrants of the nineteenth century " — when such 
tribute is uttered, it gives the clearest testimony to 
the returning gratitude of Kentucky. 

The action of Kentucky was prompt — Congress 
lingered. When did it not linger ? While his claim 
was pending, he was called to bewail a loss which to 
him was a tnost severe one. She who had followed 
him from a father's home to a scene of danger, of 
which the parallel is not now to be found — who had 
mourned him as dead while the gloomy shadows of a 
captivity were about him — who had been near to him 



DEATH OF MRS. BOONE. 375 

in all his varying fortunes — who had faithfully and 
lovingly brought up sons and daughters to cherish 
and to love him — who had been by his side when the 
murderous blow of the savage had laid their first-born 
in a bloody grave — she who had thus fulfilled the af- 
fection and duty of a faithful wife, in a good old age 
went to her last home. She died in the month of 
March, 1813, having attained the age of seventy-six 
years. Far, very far, from the home of her own kin- 
dred, she was buried on the summit of a ridge, on a 
spot selected by Boone, and when she filled the nar- 
row house, he designated the place by her side where 
his own remains were to be laid. 

His memorial to Congress was ably supported by 
the exertions of Judge Coburn, who greatly interested 
himself in his behalf, and whose able pen told effect- 
ively on the subject ; and in Congress, by Joseph 
Yance, afterwards governor of Ohio, and himself a 
fine specimen of the old-fashioned men, who blended 
a knowledge of the trials and experiences of the pio- 
neer life with educated statesmanship, and by Judge 
Burnett, the persevering and efiicient friend of Gen. 
Harrison. These gentlemen summoned the attention 
of Congress to the condition of the man who had been 
the foremost man of the West — a name that even 
then influenced Congress, as it soon will rule it. 

Mr. McKee, from the committee on public lands, 
made a report on Col. Boone's memorial, on the twen 



376 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

ty -fourth day of December, 1813. Just at that time, 
the Canadians and Indians were renewing the inci- 
dents of Boone's day of action, by their vigorous at- 
tack on the frontier. The committee themselves re- 
ported in favor of confirming his title to eight hun- 
dred and fifty acres. This was all out of the untold 
millions of acres of the public domain, which the 
United States could spare to Daniel Boone ! It made 
no mention of the eight thousand five hundred which 
the Spanish commandant — though a stranger — fully 
appreciating the services of Boone, had set apart to 
him. Throughout the length and breadth of the pub- 
lic lands, there lived no man whose claim should have 
been so eagerly sustained as that of Boone. The re- 
port states that " the petitioner is in old age, and had 
in early life rendered to his country arduous and use- 
ful services." 

This is about as little as could decently be said. 
Contrast it with the swords voted and the thanks be- 
stowed on those who have flourished in some brilliant 
engagement, not worthy to be named for real endu- 
rance and danger with the siege of Boonesborough, 
when horrid tortures awaited defeat. Conti-ast the 
eight hundred acres with the tens of thousands lav- 
ished on some scheme of favorite partisans ! 

" By reason of strength, he had arrived at four 
score," and in this, the very last days of his life, Con-, 
gress, after less mention of his name than they would 



GRANT FKOM CONGRESS. 37T 

Iiavc givcTi to a successful banker, from its wealth of 
land — a wealth so great that the ingenuity (and pa- 
triotism) of men is tasked to find avenues of gift — 
confirms the lessei' grant of the Spanish government ! 
JSTever mind — they have perpetuated in marble in the 
great dome of the Ca]3itol, a scene in his life that 
never existed ! 

"Seven cities claim old Homer dead, 
Through which the living Homer asked his bread." 

Boone had never before solicited his country. 
From it, as from individuals, he had only sought to 
pass along through life, rendering service to his day 
and to his people. Spain could not have done less 
for the Pioneer, if he had applied at the court at Mad- 
rid for the confirmation of its kindness, and in all 
probability it would have done more. "When Lafay- 
ette returned to our shores, in 1824, like a messenger 
from the army of the Revolution, the Congress has- 
tened (and it was one of those acts, so rare in its his- 
tory, to which the whole Union proclaimed a glad as- 
sent) to bestow upon him a quarter of a million of 
dollars and a township. The noble-hearted French- 
man had left his home to bear our standard in all its 
fortunes, and so had Boone. He had been exposed 
to dangers which the cliivalrous Marquis never knew. 
He had, without the inspiriting voice of Fame to 
cheer him on, pushed on his column into a country 



8^ lAYE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

"wliere all around LIm was the worst of foes. Pie had 
been a soldier, on whose shield courage wrote its 
brightest legend. He had been faithful in all his 
trusts, and, as Gov. Morehead witnesses, " u-plield the 
settlements." And what were those settleiijents ? 
Thej were the advance guard of the great march of 
civilization, which by the bravery of those who com- 
posed their front, were enabled to win and clothe 
with beauty one of tlie greatest and fairest inher- 
itances which ever gave man the field for his mind 
and his strength to show their capacities. 

Tlie great lesson that Boone taught the country, 
■was that the white man could rise superior to the sav- 
age, even when all nature seemed to be on the side 
of the latter. For this he braved solitude, hunger, 
captivity, torture, death ; and in this he set an exam- 
ple, whose consequences, we who feel the might of 
the "West, realize. 

Since his country waited till he was seventy-nine 
years old, before she rewarded him, it might, at least, 
have been as generous as was the crown of Spain, to 
whom he was but the citizen of a few days. 

At last Boone was awarded his eight hundred and 
fifty acres, and he rejoiced in it. His country had 
remembered him, and lie had something to leave to 
those who were his own. 

The incidents of man's life, when eighty yeai-s tell 
the story of decay, are few. He is happy who does 



379 

not become a burden to the kindred among wliom he 
dwells. Boone did not. "When he could no longer 
hunt, he found in the society of his children, and 
grand-children, an affectionate circle, who delighted 
in his conversation and rejoiced in every little ser- 
vice of kindness they could render him. Such is the 
testimony borne by Mr. Peck, who was so fortunate 
as to visit him in December, 1818, while he was re- 
siding with his son-in-law — Mr. Callaway — a name 
which the reader may recollect, associated with the 
capture of the young ladies from the fort at Boones- 
borough. His personal appearance was that of a re 
epectable old man — plainly clad in fabric made in 
the family — his log cabin room in order — his coun- 
tenance was pleasant, calm and fair — his forehead 
high and bold, and the soft silver of his hair in uni- 
son with his length of days. Such was not the coarse, 
rough hunter which men expected to find, replete 
with savage stories of Indian murders or border out- 
rages. It was the quiet evening of a life that had 
been passed in as much of stirring incident as is often 
written on the page of existence. He could repair a 
rifle or carve a powder horn, to be treasured up as 
relics, when the hunt and the chase were no longer 
for him ; and yet he continued a bold and daring hun- 
ter to the verge of his days ; for in his eighty-second 
year, he proceeded as far as fort Osage, near the mouth 
of Kansas River, and was there for two weeks. Such 



380 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

was his desire to be buried among his kindred — by 
the side of the wife he loved so many years — that 
when he went out on his semi-annual hunting expe- 
ditions, and age rendered a companion necessary, a 
written agreement was made that, die where he would, 
his body should be brought to the mound that over- 
looked the Missouri — that great bond of the far west 
and the sea. 

While he lived in this remote settlement, the sto- 
ries that were told of him by those who described his 
life and character at the east, were just what imagina- 
tion portrayed. All that occurred to the fancy of the 
strange and solitary, was associated with Daniel Boone. 
He seldom heard of his delineators — but on one oc- 
casion, when it was told him that a paper had narra- 
ted his death as occurring while watching the deer at 
a salt Hck, to which all the particulars were given 
that the rifle was at his shoulder, and he died while 
in the act of taking sight — the old Pioneer, " with 
his customary pleasant smile," said, " I would not be- 
lieve that tale if I told it myself. My eyesight is too 
far gone to hunt." 

Mr. Harding, the eminent artist, visited him just 
previous to his death. His recollections of immediate 
occurrences were loose and vague. It is the history of 
the mind of almost all old men ; but he could yet re- 
late the tales of old Indian skirmishes. Those events 
had become fixed in memory. The people in his vi- 



HIS DEATH. ' 381 

cinity were ignorant ^f liim, but he had a kind family 
around him, and, cooking his venison on a ramrod, as 
lie was while Mr. Harding was at his cabin, the old 
man, " after life's fitful fever," rested easily. 

The portrait which Mr. Harding made is undoubt- 
edly the best, if it be not the only portrait of this ex- 
traordinary man. 

Not long after this he was quite ill, but his strong 
frame bowed to the disease and recovered. He then 
visited Maj. Boone, his youngest son, and while at his 
house, a little indiscretion in diet finished the work of 
life. 

He died on the twenty-sixth day of September, 
1820 — eighty-six years old — a citizen of the State 
of Missouri — having passed a life extended far be- 
yond the ordinary days of man, and leaving to his- 
tory the fame of having served his country long and 
faithfully, by such service as to which the wealth, and 
power, and prosperity of a great JSiation now rejoices 
to bear testimony. 

Such incidents of life attach to but few, very few, 
among the millions, as were those which formed the 
thread of Boone's life. The solitudes and the crowds 
of the west were around him. He moved along, sus- 
pecting danger, and with strong cause, in every sha- 
dow on his path ; and he found the savage that had 
pursued him a stranger in that highway. The wing 



388 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

of the bird tluit Hew over liis half hidden hut would 
tire before it found human being like himself ; and 
great cities rose up in that wilderness. The toma- 
nawk, the scalping-knife, glittered in threatening over 
him ; the cruelty of the Indian awaited him ; th^ 
wild men watched day and night to fulfill their ven 
geance on him ; and an assemblage of statesmen ren 
dered honor to his name, on the track of the savage 
He went forth, as he believed, an instrument of Hea 
ven ordained to settle the wilderness, and hesawsove 
reign States rise from that forest. 

There is a sublimity in the daring, the quiet dig 
nity of bravery, with which this man went forth. 
The danger that had deterred a great company of 
men, organized into the frontier settlements of the 
Yadkin, failed to alarm him. He had se^ how rich 
and gloi'ious a land lay beyond the mountain, and he 
had the courage to tread its fastnesses alone. For 
months the em})ire of the west was concentrated in 
that lonely man — having neither fortress nor food, ex- 
cept that which he won by his own daring. When 
contending, brave, cool, determined ; but quiet in 
victory. He struck to conquer, not to revenge. Hunt- 
ed like a wild beast, he seems never to have cher- 
ished the hatred and souglit the vengeance which the 
Indian tighter pursues: benevolent, kind-hearted, 
liberal, honest — so that his old age felt no quiet till 
forgotten obligations were extinguished — winning all 



HIS CHARACTER. 



383 



find losing all — bold to do — rpiet in possession — 
Daniel Boone stands out in the sculpture of history, 
the Great Pioneer; — the man whose wild life, out 
of the verge of law — with power absolute — with 
the hate of the Indian fierce towards him — is re- 
membered in the kind memories of a good and great 
career, unstained bj crime. 




^o//4fsn»/f 



CHAPTER XXII. 

RSTNTCCKY THEN AND NOW WASHINGTON, LA FAYETTE, BOONE AND HAB 

KISON THE LEGISLATURE CAUSE THE REMAINS OF BOONE TO BE RE' 

MOVED TO FRANKFORT THE PUBLIC HONORS JOHN J. CRITTENDEN — 

CONCLUSION. 

When for twenty -five years the remains of Boone 
had slumbered in the grave vrhich he had chosen — 
whenlhe Missouri had swept past for a quarter of a 
century its waters hasting from the ahnost un- 
known recesses of the western forests to join the great 
Mississippi — that bond of the Unionj into whose 
swift flow north and south commingle, so that none 
can separate ■ — there came those from his own Ken- 
tucky who were charged with the holy mission of 
bearing back to the land he had loved so well, and 
sustained so long, all that was left of the Great 
Pioneer. . 

Kentucky summons her chosen sons each year to 
Frankfort to deliberate on the measures necessary to 
the government of a vigorous and enterprising peo- 
ple. This capital has a beautiful position. There is 
much of the romantic in the scenery that distinguishes 
the Kentucky River. Upon it, almost sixty miles 



THE MEN KENTUCKY HONORS. 385 

from its mouth, the city is built; and it has around 
t the mingled beauty of a gentle river, a rich plain, 
and a bold surrounding of picturesque heights. 

The State has gathered within the walls of the go- 
vernment house the portraits of four men — each of 
w^honi have been identified with the struggle of our 
]^ation to rescne itself from the dominion of the sa- 
vage and the crown — and each of whom were of 
those who drew the sword only for their country, 
and of whom it will be said in the truth of history, 
that they labored, and suffered, and conquered, not 
to elevate themselves, but to give to the people a 
happy and a free home. 

The men to whom Kentucky has assigned this spe- 
cial honor, are Washington, La Fayette, Boone, and 
Harrison. This is, indeed, a gallery to which those 
who seek to find the semblance of those who be- 
queathed to their country the fame of a bravery with- 
out a fear, and an integrity without a reproach, may 
resort, and be grateful that it is in the history of 
these States that such names are found. 

In 1845, the Legislature of Kentucky, realizing the 
vast obligations which the great people they repre- 
sented were under to Daniel Boone, who had taught 
the world the way to their glorious land, resolved that 
they would place the remains of the Pioneer in the 
public cemetery, at Frankfort ; so that none could 

visit those living men to whom Kentucky in the sue- 
Q 25 



886 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

cession of years bestows her confidence, without be- 
ing near the grave of the man, of all others, most 
prominent in the foundation of the State. Mr. Col- 
lins eloquently sajs : " There seemed to be a peculiar 
propriety in this testimonial of the veneration borne 
by the commonwealth for the memory of its illustrious 
dead ; and it was fitting that the soil of Kentucky 
should afford the final resting place for his remains, 
whose blood in life had been so often shed to protect 
it from the fury of savage hostility. It was as the 
beautiful and touching manifestation of filial affec- 
tion shown by children to the memory of a beloved 
parent, and it was right that the generation who were 
reaping in peace the fruits of his toils and dangers, 
should desire to have in their midst, and decorate 
with the tokens of their love, the sepulchre of this 
Primeval Patriarch, whose stout heart watched by 
the eraclle of this now powerful commonwealth." 

The family having consented, proper persons were 
appointed to superintend the removal. The grave 
was opened, and the remains brought from the Mis- 
souri to Frankfort. 

On the thirteenth of September, 18^5, the ceremo- 
nies of the re-interment took place. The occasion 
aroused the deepest feeling. Dead though he was, it 
was yet Daniel Boone once more in the midst of Ken- 
tucky ; and those whose childhood had been familiar 
with the deeds of his strength — those who in their 



HIS EEMAINS llEMOVED TO KENTUCKY. 387 

own kindred had known liis companions — all who 
knew the " dark and bloody " history of Kentucky, 
were stirred in emotion. The man who walked the 
forest alone — the only civilized man in all the vast 
area — with every danger that could appal the. heart 
from savage men and savage beast around him, in all 
the thought that silence and solitude evoked, never 
anticipated the hour when a proud and powerful State 
would thus heap honors on his dust. 

The pall-bearers were of the most distinguished 
of Kentuckians. There was Col. Richard M. John- 
son, to whom a grateful country conferred the high 
honor of the Yice-Presidency, and who had known 
the fierceness of the struggles of the frontier, and 
made his name famous by his participation in them ; 
and there was Gen. James Taylor, who, born in that 
memorable year, 1769, in which so many of the no- 
blest of earth first saw the light, had seen Kentucky 
emerge from the condition of savage life to all its 
greatness, and who knew well the illustrious career 
of the old man, by the side of whose coffin he walked ; 
and then came Capt. James Ward, whose encounters 
with and escapes from the Indians are of the most re- 
markable that the annals of Kentucky, almost every 
page of which is the recital of boldness and bravery, 
furnish. He was fittingly chosen to follow to his 
grave the defender of Uoonesborough. Gen. liobert 
B. McAfee was another. He was born and grew up 



888 LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

amidst the wild alarms of Indian warfare, and in the 
military and civil service of the State sustained a dis- 
tinguislied part. Peter Jordan, of Mercer; "Walter 
Bullock, of Fayette ; Thomas Joyce, of Louisville ; 
Landon Sneed, of Franklin ; Major T. Williams, of 
Kenton ; "William Boone, of Shelby ; John Johnston, 
of Ohio, also officiated as pall-bearers. It was such 
a gathering of brave and valuable men, as indicated 
that Kentucky had endeavored to render all possible 
honor to the memory of her founder. 

The pageant was most impressive. The gathering 
of the people gave a vast lengtli to the procession, 
and in its midst the coffins (for Kentucky did not sep- 
arate in death those whom peril and suffering could not 
dissever in life) of Daniel Boone and his faithful wife, 
garlanded in flowers, (the only phase of beauty ap- 
propriate to the tomb,) were borne to their last abi- 
ding place in the capital of Kentucky. 

This great State cliose well the Orator. It has 
written its name beneath no other in modern States, 
in the volume of eloipience. The men of Kentucky 
have been welcomed wherever the grandeur and mu- 
sic of the luiman voice has found admirers. John J. 
Crittenden is the son of an officer of the Revolution, 
who, when lie had faitliTuliy served liis country in 
that struggle, followed in the path of Daniel Boone, 
and emigrated to Kentucky, and reared up a family 
distinguished for the (pialities which elicited the admi 



CX)NCLUSION. 389 

ration and tlie confidence of their fellow men, and 
each of whom were men winning and deserving 
lionor. 

The name of John J. Crittenden is interwoven with 
onr history as a nation, and the records of statesmen 
and orators would be incomplete without it. At tlie 
date of which this volume is written, he has been five 
times elected to the Senate of the United States. The 
highest honors of his own State have been bestowed 
upon him, and when the conqueror of Buena Yista 
assumed the first oflSce in the country, he chose Mr 
Crittenden as his most intimate counselor. 

To such a man Kentucky committed the duty of 
pronouncing the funeral oration over the grave of 
Daniel Boone. A nation claimed the guardianship 
of his dust — brave men attended him to his tomb — 
and an illustrious orator uttered his eulogy. 

Such was the honor Kentucky poured out upon the 
memory of her pioneer. His were the services to the 
value of which the passing years bear tribute, and his 
the name which will be associated with her existence. 

And thus Boone passed away. A quiet and an 
honorable man — his bold and strong course has made 
his name part of that bright record to which our 
country appeals, when older lands ask for her heroes. 
The West, in which he stood, is growing with more 
than giant strength ; the visions of its luxuriance and 
of its wealth that his forest dreams formed, are made 



390 



LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE, 



realities ; there is an empire where he walked alone. 
Famous, as thfc simple-hearted hunter never ima- 
gined, this great Republic knows him as one of its 
Fathers, while throughout the Old World he is re- 
garded (the great poet moulded the thought) as 
having 

" left behind a name, 

Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, 
Which Hate or Envy could not tinge with wrong." 




THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY. 



SIMON KENTON. 

ONE OF THE COMPANIONS OF BOONE PLACE OF HIS NATIVITY HIS BIRTH; 

AND PARENTAGE HE FALLS IN LOVE IS AN UNSUCCESSFUL SUITOR HIS 

RIVAL AN UNINVITED GUE.ST AT THE WEDDING THE CONFLICT APPA- 
RENTLY FATAL RESULT KENTOn's FLIGHT TO THE UNEXPLORED WEST 

HIS ASSUMED NAME SIMON GIRTY STRADER AND YEAGER BOEDER EX- 
PLOITS—GEN. Clarke's expedition — kenton's daring — captured by 

THE INDIANS THEIR CRUELTIES CONDEMNED TO TORTURE IS SAVED BY 

GIRTY VALUABLE SERVICES AS A SPY JOY AT FINDING HIS EARLY RIVAL 

STILL LIVING THEIR SUBSEQUENT FRIENDSHIP KENTOn's BRAVE DEEDS 

IN THE " DARK AND BLOODY GROUND " HIS MISFORTUNES-^HIS LAST 

BATfLE VISITS FRANKFORT IN HIS OLD AGE PUBLIC HONORS BESTOWED 

UPON HIM HIS DEATH. 

Although to Boone a true history must accord the 
first rank in the pioneers of Kentucky, a place he won 
by the might of good judgment, as much as by the 
strength of force, yet he was not alone. He was one, the 
noblest one, of a company of men who, fitted to the 
great task of conquering a country, went forward, not 
in the wild excitement of a great army, where the indi- 
vidual arm is made strong by the cheering companion- 
ship of those who are by the s*ide to share and allevi- 
ate the suflering — but in groups of a number so small, 
that strategy and consummate skill were needed ii» 
every hour — sometimes but of a companion — some- 



892 SIMON KENTON. 

times alone. These were the bold men who fonght, 
endured, struggled on ; won the fight, grasped the 
prize, and found it pass from their scarred hands, to 
the smooth and oily clutch of those who had kept 
back from the battle to share in tlie spoil. 

Simon Kenton was one of the companions of Boone, 
and was true to his leader, even to the days of trem- 
ulous old age. In a part of Yirginia to this day one 
of its important localities, not far from that wild gorge 
"which has been illuminated to history by the master 
pen of Thomas JejBferson — the romantic Harper's 
Ferry — and nigher still to that Mount Yernon, which 
is the property of all civilization, Kenton was born. 
Fauquier county may not forget, in its annals, that it 
had the parentage of one who revived, in modern 
days, the endurance and the courage of the fabled 
hero. His birth day was the 15th of May, 1755, that 
memorable year when one of the great cities of the 
Old World was crushed beneath the earthquake, and 
made the memories of Lisbon interwoven ^ith horror. 
Kenton had good parentage. The rapidity of the Irish- 
man and the firmness and earnestness of the Scotch- 
woman, mingled in him. It is related that, from 
their poverty, his parents could afibrd him no educa- 
tion. Those who know how faithfully the sons and 
daughters of Scotland cherish learning, will readily 
conclude that, in Kenton's mother, he found one who 
did not neglect to impart to her son instruction^ 



niS FIRST LOVE. ' 393 

From 1762 to 1775, was a period in which the col- 
onies and, among them all, eminently Yirginia, was 
preparing to enter on its bold purpose of warfare for 
freedom. It was the period of Kenton's boyhood. 
It is the period of life when character is formed by 
imitation, when to all that is about them the young 
are keenly ilive, and of the true right of which, the}? 
judge with wonderful accuracy. Kenton, a bright 
and bold youth, found an early sorrow, a keen and 
bitter one, and one, it cannot be doubted, in which 
his heart quailed far more than it did in after years, 
in the terrible circumstances of his lot as a captive. 
He gave to a young girl of the vicinage the ardor 
of a first love ; not a passing, sickly sentimentalismj 
such as is, in our day, born on the sunny side of 
Broadway, but a strong, earnest, absorbing passion. 
It was, to hira, to be the beginning of a new life. 
This passage in Kenton's life has been often men- 
tioned in a tone of trifling, as if it was but of the 
things of merriment. It shows feeble knowledge of 
the human heart. Kenton found, to his young 
thoughts' intense bitterness, that he had a rival, and 
that the fairest smile of the girl he loved was given to 
another. Such grief has made wiser men mad. The 
young lady may have learned, even in that far off day, 
and that rude land, the lesson of coquetry. It is 
most probable that she encouraged the young, bold, 
hunter boy. He had the mould of a man about him, 



394 SIMON KENTON. 

and she must have smiled in pleasure at receiving 
his affection ; but her last and longest liking was for 
Veach, his rival. It is not the first time in the his- 
tory of the world that woman has been unable to dis- 
cern, in the boy, the future rank and eminence of the 
man. Mary Chaworth failed to see the 

" Napoleon of the realms of rhyme," 

in young Byron ; the old washer- woman in Sweden 
lamented for many a long year, that she had refused 
the soldier Bernadotte ; and there is a greater mar- 
vel afloat in history, that our own Washington knew 
the pangs of a rejection. Kenton seemed in despair. 
He even went unasked to the wedding, and found his 
loved one sitting by the side of her accej)ted. He 
boldly and rashly seated himself by her side — it is 
said, between the lovers. It was the signal for one 
of those scenes of violence, so often marking with 
alarm and blood the path of life in the frontier land. 
It is a tribute to the prowess of Kenton, that Yeach 
called in the assistance of his brothers, as they were all 
at the wedding, and with the might of all of them, our 
despairing lover found injury added to insult. The 
bride may have relished, as did the females of the 
chivalric day, this fierce tribute to her charms, and 
thought it a bright beginning to her married life. 
The females of that day and locality, measured the 
devotion of men by a rude and rough standard. 



CONFLICT WITH HIS RIVAL. 395 

Kenton retired, deserted in love and beaten in bat- 
tle. It was a dark day for the boy. 

Some time afterward, he met Yeach engaged in 
carrying shingles near his house, to w^hich, with his 
new wife, he had retired. Kenton immediately 
aroused into a renewal of hostilities, and proposed a 
combat. They had the manliness to seek a place dis- 
tant from the house, so that the wife might not wit- 
ness the scene, where now she could have but one in- 
terest. Yeach knew that he had conquered once, 
and being of the border men, and of age superior to 
Kenton, he accepted the challenge. They reached 
their battle ground, and a fight ensued, in which, at 
first, Yeach was conqueror, and used his advantage 
with vast effect, damaging poor Kenton terribly, and 
not the less mentally, as he reminded him of his con- 
quest over him in love. But Kenton had already 
learned the lesson of the word endurance, and concen- 
trating his purposes, succeeded in forcing Yeach near 
a stump. Yeach, in this respect, if in no other, resem- 
bled the cavaliers of his gallant state's early history, 
and wore long hair. It was a sore snare to him, for 
Kenton succeeded in winding it around a branch of 
the tree ; and holding Yeach at this disadvantage, the 
scale turned, and in a very brief period Yeach was 
BO utterly disabled, that " he made no sign." The 
thought rushed over Kenton that he had killed his 
neighbor, and, in horror, he spoke to him — spoke in 



396 SIMON KENTON. 

words of earnest sympathy. The bleeding, wounded 
man lay silent and still, and the boy of sixteen felt 
the terrible chill that writes murderer on the heart. 
He had but brief moment to deliberate, and in that, 
he saw the danger, and fled. There was a cloud over 
his heart. He had seen the girl he loved with a sin- 
gle, impulsive fervor, given into another's arms, and 
he was a murderer. What had he before him but 
flight ? and in despair, he left the home of his 
boyhood. 

To wend eastward or to the Potomac, was to face 
the executioner, and the only road of escape was to 
the setting sun. The wild west seemed the only land 
that spoke of refuge, and with the bound of a deer, 
he fled. Urged by a vivid fear, that every man he 
saw was the messenger to bring him back to justice, he 
used for his flight only the hours of the night, and 
let the warm, bright sun, that shone so merrily and 
gladly over gentle heart and unstained hand, find him 
only in concealment. Nor did his caution cease till 
he found the abodes of man growing few, and the 
woods close in around him. He met one — a rover 
and adventurer — in whom he could trust, and his 
companionship was welcome. He arrived at Ise's 
ford, on Cheat river, one of the little branches of the 
Monongahela. He assumed the name of Simon 
Butler, dreading lest that of Kenton should only be 
a passport to the hands of the law. 



THE FLIGHT. 397 

And now Kenton, or Butler, has begun the life 
of wild adventure. His was not a disposition easily 
maddened, and it was only strong provocation that 
aroused the revenger. To him, believing liimself 
what he feared, the woods were the most congenial 
home. He met their dangers with full conscious- 
ness that the wild beast, and the wilder man, would 
be ever found in his trail. 

Tlie absence of pursuit lulled the fears of Kenton, 
and he commenced to look around him. With some 
companions who had pushed into that country, he pro- 
ceeded as far as the site of that now busy city — Pitts- 
burgh — far different, then, in its forest scenery. It 
was while he lingered at Fort Pitt, that he found out 
Simon Girty, a name infamous in the annals of the 
west, and yet, like the Corsair, " linked with one vir- 
tue,", and, it is sad to know, equally, with the " thou- 
sand crimes." To Kenton, subsequent events made 
this acquaintance of inestimable value. Here, too, 
he enrolled among his friends, John Strader and 
George Yeager. He talked with these men. They 
had legends of wood craft and warfare to pour into 
his young heart ; and when they declared to him that 
the Indians had pointed out to Yeager the " Kain- 
tuck-ee," he became as eager to know its fertility for 
himself, as the most adventurous could have desired. 

And, even as of old, Arcadia was sought, so did 
these rovers of the land seek the cave land, but they 



398 SBtON KENTOK. 

songlit in vain. It seemed to have melted from tlie 
earth since Yeager, who had had an Indian educa- 
tion, had gazed at it. They persevered — hunted — • 
traversed the Ohio wearily — searched the land about 
Big and Little Sandy, and Salt Lick, and Guyandotte. 
In vain ; the " cave land," so enthusiastically por- 
trayed, as all and more than all that fervid hunter 
could wish, would not present itself. They had failed 
to find it by confining their search to the river side. 
But all this made Kenton eminent as a hunter ,*> and 
a foray by the Indians, in which Yeager was killed, 
and Strader and Kenton escaped most narrowly, ini- 
tiated him into the ferocious experiences of Indian 
war. Their escape was that of the hunted deer ; 
wandering, famished and torn, Kenton must have 
believed that the fate of Cain was his. In the soci- 
ety of traders whom they encountered, they slowly 
forgot their perils, and for several years afterward, 
in all the romance, more real in danger than fiction 
pictures ; in perilous service as a spy, for which his 
acuteness and rapidity qualified him so well, and in 
which he rendered essential service to that last of the 
colonial noblesse, Lord Dunmore ; and in a closer and 
intense acquaintance with the new land, with wliose 
charms as a hunting-ground, and a home, he became 
more enamored, his life passed on. 

Though Yeager was gone, the stories of "Kain- 
tuck-ee " Kenton could not forget ; and in 1775, as 



FITZPATRICK AND HENDRICKS. 399 

he and one Williams made a short episode from their 
joTii-ney down the Ohio, he recognized that Yeager 
had told only truth. Thia was the beautiful land ; 
and in May, 1775, near the present town of Wash- 
ington, in Warren county, they camped and cultiva- 
ted their corn ; and this was the first of the white 
man's culture, north of the Kentucky river. 

There wandered near them two white men — Fitz- 
patrick and Hendricks. They had been voyaging 
down the Ohio, but by some casualty their canoe 
failed them, and their joy at meeting companions 
was great. It was unhappily shortened. Fitzpat- 
rick did not allow himself to test the pleasures of 
Kenton's pioneer home. Like a wise, if not a bold 
man, he made the best of his way to Virginia, pre- 
ferring the quiet rest of the Old Dominion, after his 
experiences, to all that the beauty of the new land 
could furnish. 

Well would it have been for poor Hendricks if he 
too had terminated his life of adventure. He went 
to Kenton's camp, while Kenton and Williams gave 
Fitzpatrick their society to the river. Their manly 
feeling soon convinced them that they must hasten 
back to protect Hendricks. The rescue came too 
late. They found his bones in the ashes. The hor- 
rible savage had surprised him alone ; and it added 
to the anguish that Kenton felt, that he recollected 
Laving seen the smoke at his camp, as they tui-ned 



4:00 SIMON KENTON. 

aside in the woods, believing that Hendricks had 
only been made a captive. It was in terror like this 
that Kentucky laid its foundation. If ever freedom 
should be cherished with intensity, it should be by a 
state where the hymn of its youth was the cry of an- 
guish. And more years passed on. The Indians, 
encouraged by the counsel and alliance of Great 
Britain, made the war of the revolution as fearful on 
the frontier as it was gloomy and discouraging on 
the seaboard. Kenton, as spy and ranger, was bold 
and brave. ]^ow he was in his young prime, and a 
splendid man in physical beauty was he. Tall, even 
beyond six feet, and of fine person, his carriage had 
the Indian's straightness. Powerful, and of a weight 
just proportionate to his stature, his voice was gen- 
tle and his disposition jpleasant. He had the same 
simplicity of heart as had Boone, and it is but antici- 
pating the history to say, that while he was victor in 
battle, he was no match for the crafty. 

In the various services of the army, and in the 
chase, his life passed on. In another division of this 
volume is narrated the history of his good service to 
Boone, in and around Boonesborough and its scenes 
of strife. When chosen spies were to be appointed, 
for whose payment Yirginia's faith was pledged, even 
as Washington selected " Harvey Birch " — the name 
that Cooper has made more famous than the real one, 
Enoch Crosby — so did Boone select Kenton ; and 



401 

when, in a foray near the gates of the fort, Kenton^ 
with distinguished valor, dashed through the foe, and 
bore the company safely in, the taciturnity of Boone 
did not prevent him from quietly saying, "Well, Si- 
mon, you have behaved yourself like a man to-day ; 
indeed, you are a fine fellow." Curiously enough, 
this is one of the few instances in which Kenton did 
not take the scalp, so fatally had the cruel peculiarity 
of the Indian's bloody warfare incorporated itself 
even with the white man's blow. 

When that master mind of the west. Gen. George 
Eogers Clarke, organized his expedition against Kas- 
kaskia, it seemed a campaign so dangerous and so 
far, and there was so earnest appeal by the females 
at the stations, that the brave settlers deemed it their 
duty to remain by those to whom it was, unquestion- 
ably, their first duty to give protection. But Kenton 
and one other, whose name deserves record — Ilaggin 
— in despite of all the pleading voices of wife and sis- 
ter and mother, followed the general ; and it is proof 
that his Scotch-born mother must have imparted ed- 
ucation to him, that he sent to General Clarke a com- 
plete and faithful account of Yincennes, acquired in 
the close observation of three days. Perhaps it was 
through this information, that the place was after- 
ward taken. 

Poor Kenton now found his misfoi'tunes assuming a 

deeper shadow. By a daring utterly misdirected, he 

26 



402 SmON KENTCN. 

made a foray worthy of tlie boldest days of tlie bor- 
der times, upon the horses at Chillicothe, a place 
where old Blackfish, v/ho had adopted Boone, had 
liis attention too fully alive to the value of the ani- 
mals to allow such a plunder to be unnoticed. They 
caught and haltered seven. Seven was a noble prize, 
and Kenton's name was up, if the capture could be 
successful. They rode and they ran, and the mad 
Indians after them, but Kenton reached the Oliio. 
He could cross that " dark and stormy water," as it 
then was, but his horses could not, and he madly lost 
time rather than lose his horses. Of course, this intense 
folly wrecked him. Even if he had been contented 
in making off with one horse, he might have escaped ; 
but he was in for a desperate game, and not a horse 
would he release. The Indian captured him like a 
caged wolf ; and the Indian took full revenge. Tlie 
savage considered this attempt to take his horses of 
the first class of felony. Whipped, beaten, trampled 
upon with all the fierceness that their demon-like 
cruelty could urge, they bound him to the earth with 
thongs and stakes, around, across, by leg and arm 
and neck, in manner from which the devils of the In- 
quisition could learn new lessons. He was treated 
as Mazeppa was, and at every village the savage 
heaped new insult, and inflicted additional blows. 
That " venerable father," Capt. Blackfish, inquired 
if Capt. Boone had told him to steal the horses. 



IS SAVED BY GIRTY. 403 

Kenton, with manly boldness, declared lie did it 
of his own free will. 

He ran the gauntlet, the knife, the club, the whip, 
all ready to murder, but by wonderful adroitness es- 
caped this, his race for life, never perhaps equaled 
in sagacious avoidance ; and then the brutes, that 
authors have delineated as the " noble savage," held 
grave council as to the stake, and the heavy war-club 
came violently to the ground, or was passed in si- 
lence, as their decision w^as to save or destroy. He 
was reprieved, but only to be tortured by the gaunt- 
let, at successive intervals, till a final council was 
held, when the decision was against him, till the 
same wretched Girty, whose name is yet so odious 
for his renegade cruelties, entering the council, learned 
his name, recognized him as having been in service 
wdth him under Dunmore, and, by the utmost effort, 
for the time saved him — saved him when all hope 
was gone, and when a fierce death was before him. 
One of the strongest reasons urged by the chiefs 
against granting mercy, McClung says, was that 
" many of their people had come from a distance, 
solely to assist at the torture of the prisoner ; and 
they pathetically painted the disappointment and 
chagrin with which they would hear that all their 
trouble had- been for nothing." 

For the time, Girty prevailed; but the Indian's 
hate rose fierce again, and he was condemned_onc© 



i04 SIMOI^ KENTON. 

more, and actually only saved from death by the im- 
timely cruelty of an Indian, wlio rushed upon him with 
an ax, cutting through his shoulder. Even Logan, the 
famous Logan, whose eloquence Jefferson has made 
memorable, proved unavailing, and it was to an En- 
glishman, named Drewyer, that he owed his deliver- 
ance. He was taken to Detroit, as Boone had been, 
but, more fortunate than the Pioneer, was allowed to 
remain. From Detroit he escaped, through the kind- 
ness of Mrs. Harvey, who balanced the account for 
the sex with Kenton, his misfortunes having be- 
gun with them. The complete narration of this 
incident may be found in the life of Boone, in this 
volume. 

Kenton joyfully took part with General Clarke. 
Recognized as the Great Spy, he, in defiance of all 
his dangers and sufferings, was with the army, fore- 
most in the fight everywhere. Li 1782, a tremen- 
dous load was lifted from his heart, for he learned 
that Yeach lived, and that he was not a murderer. 
His joy was excessive. He dropped his name of 
Butler, and became again Simon Kenton ; and it is 
bright to record here, that subsequently, he and the 
man for whose imagined death he had done such ter- 
rible penance, and the fair lady herself, met, and old 
feuds were forgotten and new friendships formed. 

And, in a bold career, Kenton went through the 
war. He led the attack, and when others quailed. 



HIS LAST BATTLE. 405 

he went forward. He lield his station till the in- 
oncers so rallied around it as to bid defiance to the 
savage. And the Indian light went out in " the 
Dark and Bloody Ground." The chiefs that would 
have restrained their countrymen from the deeds of 
horror, which so accelerated their annihilation, and 
those who were the first to counsel them, all went 
down before the superior strategy and steel of the 
white man. Kentucky rose to dignity as a state. 
Mad Anthony "Wayne crushed out the last spasm of 
Indian resistance, and Kenton was of his volunteers. 
It is scarcely necessary to relate in his case, as in 
that of Boone, that when peace came, the speculator 
robbed Kenton of his land. Mr. Collins relates that 
he was actually made a prisoner for debt, on the spot 
where he had reared the first cabin in northern Ken- 
tucky, and he was obliged to move into Ohio. Can 
it be possible that such a page is to be found in the 
annals of Kentucky ! 

He fought but once more. It was at the Thames, 
when Harrison and Shelby wore the honors of the 
country. 

One bright day dawned on him, when he came to 
Frankfort, in 1824, at seventy years of age- -a poor, 
old wanderer, and was recognized, and received the 
honors of a public reception. He essayed to join in 
the pledged gathering, at Cincinnatti, of the fifty- 
year survivors of November 4, 1782, but the infirmi- 



4:06 



SIMON KENTON. 



ties of* age prevented his joining the few who were 
not deterred by the pestilence of 1832. 

Poor, simple-hearted, the old man died in the com- 
forts of a religious hope, at the age of eighty-one, 
leaving a memorj^ of calm faith, and his quiet seemed 
the fulfillment of the inandate, " Peace — he still," to 
the tossing sea. He had quivered before the stake, 
and endured the gauntlet, and suffered all the hor- 
rors of a border desolation and captivity, and yet 
lived until there was an empire around him, and the 
voice of gentle friendship his soothing farewell to 
life. Kentucky may place his name high among her 
braves, and redeem, by kindness to the aged and 
poor in her borders, the sad wrong which these pi- 
oneers bore. 




JO DAVIESS. 

HrS PARENTAGE TIME AND PLACE OF HIS BIRTH REMOVAL OF HIS PARENTS 

TO KENTUCKY HIS EDUCATION EARLY PROMISE ^DAVFtSS VOLUNTEERS 

UNDER GEN. ADAIR BATTLE AT FORT ST. CLAIR RETREAT OF THE SET- 
TLERS CAPTURE OF HORSES BY THE SAVAGES DAVIESS DETERMINES TO 

RETAKE HIS OWN STEED DESPERATE CHARACTER OF THE UNDERTAKING — • 

HIS MARVELLOUS ESCAPE HIS SUCCESS ^f: STUDIES LAW SUCCESS IN 

HIS PROFESSION HIS MARRIAGE GEN. HARRISON's CAMPAIGN AGAINST 

THE INDIANS DAVIESS A VOLUNTEER, WITH RANK OF MAJOR BATTLE OF 

TIPPECANOE DAVIESS IS SLAIN. 

Such was the familiar manner in wliicli the bold 
and brave soldier, the eloquent orator, the skillful 
advocate, was named, as the story of his courage and 
the power of his mind was the theme of the settlers' 
converse. His liistory has not all the wild thrill of 
constant peril in predatory warfare, in siege or storm, 
but it has such a blended thread of the court and 
camp about it, the wand of the advocate, and the 
sword of the soldier, that it will always constitute a 
graphic chapter in the wonderful history of Kentucky. 

Joseph Hamilton Davffess, like Kenton, had in his 
veins the mingled blood of the Irish and Scotch, and 
the character he produced, developed well his pa- 
rentage. But the characteristics of the old countries 
had received their impress of the jSTew World, as, al- 
though his parents were of the lineage named, them- 
selves were born in Virginia. 



408 JO DAVIESS. 

In Bedford county, near the heart of the Ancient 
Dominion, beneath the peaks of Otter, Daviess was 
born, on the 4th of March, 1774 — two years before 
the birth of the republic, of which he was such an 
ornament. If Virginia should build, as the Euro- 
pean monarch has, upon the banks of one of its riv- 
ers, a temple for the statues of its illustrious sons, the 
line would be so long, and the group so great, that 
other republics migBt well envy her the treasure. 

It was when infancy was just melting into child- 
hood, at five years of age, that the parents of Daviess 
removed to Kentucky, then the wilderness portion 
of their state. It was heroic to dare the perils of the 
forest. It was that conquering courage which went 
out to subdue the land, and by which, long before 
their natural growth, these forest communities be- 
came independent and powerful states. "When they 
reached the end of their long and perilous journey, 
they fixed their home in the vicinity of the battle 
fields of Harrodsburgh and Boonesborough. It was 
in such scenes that the gallant orator was to receive 
his mould, and out of such an oi\leal, mind could not 
pale away into mediocrity. 

The Caledonian mother on this journey evinced 
her resQlution, and gave evidence that her child 
would inherit qualities that would be of energy in 
winning way through the crowd in mankind's pur- 
suits. On their wilderness road, by a fall from her 



HIS EDUCATION. 409 

horse, her arm was broken. There was small skill 
in surgery there, and the road was no couch of ease 
and rest to the sniFerer. To the female in this day 
it would be deemed scarcely short of barbarity, to 
press on in snch an honr of suffering. "Jean Da- 
vies " was of no yielding class. Even with but the 
imperfect bandages of the hour, she remounted her 
horse, and clinging closer to her darling boy, urged 
onward, and had kind word and pleasant smile to 
cheer the party. The exertions of this mother pro- 
cured for Daviess an education. She knew what 
weapon it would be with which to determine the 
step of fortune. Her care was well rewarded. Even. 
at the stormy day of the revolution, the settlers had 
in some localities succeeded in inducing the presence 
of scholars, by whose tuition the classics revealed 
their strength to the wilderness. From a Mr. Wooley, 
and from Drs. Brooks and Culbertson, he learned 
the Latin and the Greek. It was the subject of re- 
mark in his school, that his declamation and public 
speaking was that of the young orator. Thus he 
studied and improved till calamity checked his plans. 
A sister and a brother passed avv^ay, and he who had 
been devoted to his studies, found the very practical 
duty of the farm calling for his attention. *His was 
not a disposition, however, to be quietly merged into 
a farmer's life. The day was favorable to bolder des- 
tinies. R 



410 JO DAVIESS. 

Gen. Jolin Adair was early trained to war. He 
had learned in the cruelties of an imprisonment du- 
ring the revolution, what war really was. Migrating 
from South Carolina, he joined the hold and adven- 
turous in Kentucky, and in the bloody border war 
took active part. On the 6th of November, 1792, 
he organized a company of volunteers to guard the 
transportation of supj)lies to the forts north of the 
Ohio river. Contiguous to Fort St. Clair his troops 
were attacked by the Indians with terrible force, and 
here young Daviess, who had dashed away from the 
plow to volunteer for the stirring strife, took his in- 
itiation into the battle field — a field the terrible har- 
vest of which it was his destiny afterward to reap. 

This was a memorable battle. The Indians were 
led by Little Turtle, who evinced the sagacity of a 
disciplined soldier. The savages made the attack so 
suddenly that they instantly perceived that they had 
gained an advantage, and this was everything to the 
red man. If he began well, he went through the 
fight with desperation, but a vigorous defense caused 
him to quail. Major Adair directed his plan of bat- 
tle skillfully, directing Madison, afterward governor 
of Yirginia, to attack the right, and Lieut. Hall the 
left ; but the enemy had already killed Hall, and it 
became necessary for Adair to lead the assault. 
He did so boklly, and the Indians fell back ; but 
learning tactics in their fiush of success, Little Turtle 



DESPERATE ADVENTURE. 411 

sent sixty of liis warriors to turn the right of the 
troops. There was but one thing left for the regu- 
lars. It was unusual in the annals of Kentucky to 
sound a retreat, but it had to come, and in the best 
order available ; the retreat was made, and they fell 
back on their camp. The Indians in all their fury, 
rushed after them, knowing as their leader did, their 
power in one fierce charge, but Adair rallied, and 
drove them back. 

Here an officer figured, to whose counsels and ex- 
periences, and many of them, it may be, founded on 
this battle, the world owes one of its greatest of mod- 
ern military commanders. It was the father of " Old 
Zach " — Col. Eichard Taylor, who was prominent in 
this struggle. At that time the future hero of Buena 
Yista was eight years of age, and it is easy to im- 
agine with what intense interest the fireside stories 
of his gallant father were heard by the boy. 

The Indians had taken good spoil of the horses of 
the troops, and among them the horse of young Da- 
viess. He was resolved to win this back. If the In- 
dians could take to their camp that fine body of 
horse, two hundred strong, Jo was determined that 
his should not be among the number. So he dared 
the dashing exploit, and sprang onward for his ani- 
mal. The balls whistled past his ears till he realized 
that branch of music to his heart's content. They 
went through coat, vest, and shirt, but he won hia 



4:12 JO DAVIESS. 

prize. He regained the fort in safety, liis horse, the 
only one out of two hundred, rescued. The balls 
knew him then, as Desaix once said. 

From this association of brave men, and these 
eventful passages, Daviess, when his term of service 
was over, went to the profession of the law. It was 
the exchange of the conflict of arms for that of intel- 
lects. He chose one of the best jurists in the state 
as his teacher — George IsTicholas, a name familiar to 
our day, as of the really illustrious of Virginia— and 
there grouped in that office a galaxy of the distin- 
guished. Even in these times, the names of Felix 
Grundy, the celebrated seuator from Tennessee — of 
Garrard — of Bledsoe — of Talbot, and John Pope, 
are recognized in their eminence. Such was the as- 
sociation of Jo Daviess. No wonder that his intel- 
lect, under such rivaling, sprang into life with all 
its powers. This soldier bo}^, who had ah-eady, when 
but eighteen, been of the gallant band of braves who 
stood by Adair, and who had thus been enrolled in 
the warrior's race, devoted himself to study, severely. 
He took no rest until he had achieved a fitness for 
the exalted duties to which he felt that his destiny 
led him. 

And the effect of it was apparent. When the set- 
tlers knew that the daring soldier — the lad who had 
" come in " while the country was yet a wilderness — 
was ready to plead their cause, with the erudition of a 



niS MAKRIAGE. 4-13 

Bcliolar, and the persuasion of an orator, they sought 
him, and he commenced practice with the finest 
prospects. In the year 1801, he appeared in the 
federal capitol, hefore that tribunal which, in all the 
vicissitudes of party and of opinion, has remained 
foremost in the confidence and honor of the people 
of the United States — their supreme court. He was 
the first advocate that had stood there from *'the 
west" — that land which, since then, has so often il- 
lustrated the great name and fame of that arena. 
He vindicated his name, and yet he was but eight- 
and-twenty years of age. Such an effort has seldom 
been made by one so young in legal training. It is 
good proof of his success that he married, in 1803, 
Anne Marshall, the sister of that John Marshall, whose 
career is among our national treasures. The good 
opinion gained before the chief-justice was easily 
transmuted into the affection of the fair sister. 

When that great man — but bad as great — Aaron 
Burr, dissatisfied with the success of the republic, 
sought to build up, in bold ambition, his scheme of 
western conquest, the government determined to hold 
him to the charge of treason, and Daviess was se- 
lected as the prosecuting counsel ; but the gloss of 
other designs had been too successfully thrown over 
it, by this extraordinary maneuverer, and the prosecu- 
tion was not pursued. 

And so this pioneer of Kentucky in the noblest 



4:14 JO DAVIESS. 

sense — he who led the way in the pursuits of intel 
lectual vigor — who tanght the republic that some 
thing more enduring than valor and courage in the 
fiirht was in that noble but troubled land — so he 
moved on, in manner of great dignity ; in oratory 
worthy the country of Breckenridge, and Menifee, 
and Morehead, and Crittenden, and Clay. 

We know not, in our day — nor is it probable we ' 
ever shall, as the Old World seems to be furnishing 
abundant occupation for itself — the trials of our fa- 
thers in the conflict with the Indians, stiiTed up to 
all ferocity, and stimulated by abundant resources, 
from the intrigues of a foreign power. These troub- 
les were the prelude to the war of 1812 ; and the In- 
dian that had seemed crushed by the successive vic- 
tories of the past, woke up into all the ancient bitter- 
ness. It was intensely true, that ^' in their ashes 
lived their wonted fires." And who can ever forget, 
that has given thought to the history of his country, 
that wonderful battle of Tippecanoe, so interwoven 
in the record of bravery. When a distinguished 
general, himself a fatlier of the west, approached the 
hostile tribes on the Wabash, he was met by the 
principal chiefs. It was near the town of the 
Prophet, that savage who was so fondly deemed to 
have stretched his power beyond the world of the 
visible. There was - speciousness in the ofier of the 
Indian warriors. Th^y wanted their warrior brother 



DA^^IESS A VOLUNTEER. 4:15 

to rest — not to press forward till there was time for a 
conference — and counseled liim to an encampment. 
Such professions came to an ear accustomed to the 
wiles of the strategy of the men of the forest. The 
march was stayed, and the encampment ordered, but 
Harrison directed his troops to sleep on their arms, 
in order of battle. 

Among those who were with the gallant general 
on that eventful night, was the eloquent and brave 
Kentuckian, who is the subject of this sketch. It 
.would kave been strange, indeed, if some distin- 
guished son of Kentucky had not been there. Jo 
Daviess, as the trials of his country gathered darker, 
saw with sagacious foresight the coming war, and 
the soldier triumphed over the advocate. He left 
the ranks of the bar and the forum, where all eyes 
were turned toward him, and men traveled weary 
distances to hear his voice, to enter into Harrison's 
army — a volunteer — a re2)resentative of the pioneers 
of Kentucky. He received the command of major, 
and became at once of eminent service to General 
Harrison. 

The morning proved that the caution of the gen- 
eral had been wisely exercised. At the hour before 
the dawn, was the Indian's favorite time of attack. 
Aurora was to them the battle deity. The yell of a 
furious charge was heard, and such a bloody battle 
broke forth, as lives in the memory of the western. 



4:16 



JO DAVIESS. 



Btates till tills hour. Daviess rnshed into the figlit, 
and his bold voice and comnianding pereon gave him 
noble preeminence. lie counseled and solicited to 
share in achargemade soon after the fight commenced. 
The bullets tliat had whistled harmlessly hj liira at 
Fort St. Clair, had more fatal mission now, and he 
fell ; and seldom, if ever, has Indian blow fallen 
more severely on the country. Kentucky mourned 
her dead on that battle field, but the brave, the 
manly, the chivalric, the eloquent Daviess most of 
all. It was a loss the whole state felt ; it thrilled 
the ear everywhere. And deeply was he mourned, 
and even to this hour the memory of Jo Daviess is 
in Kentucky's heart. He was of her noblest and her 
bravest. 

The great mineral city of Illinois, Galena, makes 
monument to his name, by the designation of the 
county in which it is situate. It did not need this to 
perpetuate his fame. He belonged to that age of 
Kentucky, when the sword of the soldier stood by the 
side of the plow and the pen, for hers was a land of 
conflict. 




BLAND BALLARD. 

mS REMOVAL TO KENTUCKY IS ENGAGED IN THE EARLY CONFLICTS "WITn 

THE INDIANS THE DISASTROUS AFFAIR AT CHILLICOTHE BALLARD 

WOUNDED, BUT NOT DISHEARTENED ^JOINS GENERAL CLARKe's COMMAND 

HIS SERVICES AS A SPY IS SURPRISED AND CAPTURED TAKEN DOWN 

THE OHIO A DAY OF MERRIMENT AMONG THE RED MEN THE HORSE RACE 

AND THE FOOT RACE EXCITEMENT AMONG THE INDIANS CARELESSNESS 

OF THE GUARD BALLARD SEIZES A NOBLE STEED, AND ESCAPES THE 

RACE FOR LIFE THE INEFFECTUAL PURSUIT EXPLOIT ON THE OHIO A 

NOVEL REWARD A DREADFUL TRAGEDY SINGLE HANDED COMBATS 

BALLARD's prowess BATTLE OF THE RIVER RAISIN — IS TAKEN PRISONEB 

CONFINED AT FORT GEORGE LIVES TO SEE THE PROSPERITY OF HIS 

ADOPTED STATE, 

Captain Ballard was in vigorous boyhood when 
the revohition commenced, and thus had a reliable 
and intelligent knowledge of the circumstances attend- 
ing the coming of Kentucky into existence, which, 
it is most gratifying to record, was, in an old age ex- 
tending to these times, by actual intercourse with the 
men of this generation, made available to the fidelity 
of history. He was eighteen years of age when he 
came to Kentucky. It was in 1779 — a year in which 
the now flourishing and important city of Lexington, 
always hereafter classic from its association with the 
home of Henry Clay, was inaugurated by a solitary 
block house, built by Robert Patterson — the first 
step of the coming dominion of the white man — and 



lis BLAND BALLAED. 

when that nucleus of sorrow to the pioneers, the land 
law of Kentucky county ! was in such excess of wis- 
dom enacted by the eminent legislature of Virginia. 
It was also the year when an attempt was made to 
dislodge the L.dian for^e at Chillicothe. So Ballard 
found the times of his coming, those when the 
strong arm and the quick thought were of value, and 
he was soon in the fight. In those days, between 
the attacks of the British and the Indians, the set- 
tlers must have led a charmed life to have escaped 
the battle field. The sound of the rifle was in the 
air, and there could be neither inaction nor neutrality. 
The Chillicothe fight was a sad disaster. It was 
one of those instances in which the extraordinary 
misconduct of a leader paralyzes an army. Lo- 
gan fought bravely ; but Bowman, who was in com- 
mand, seemed without consciousness of his trust, 
and the bravest chapter in the fight, was the gallant 
retreat. Ballard was not disheartened. Though se- 
verely wounded while under the command of Gen- 
eral George Rogers Clarke, whose name appears ev- 
erywhere in the annals of Kentucky, he persevered. 
"When that crushing campaign of 1782 took place, 
which, like that led on by Sullivan in New York, 
became one of devastation and annihilation, Ballard, 
under his old commander, was present. The Indian 
towns on the Miami and Sc'oto were burnt, and the 
last great blow was struck It dispersed and de- 



HE IS TAKEN PRISONER. 419 

etroyed the power of the savage over fields and homes 
wliich civilization claimed as its own. 

Like Kenton, Ballard undertook the rugged and 
dangerous duty of a spy — a service requiring the ut- 
most sagacity and courage, and one which is invalua- 
ble to the army, but never appreciated. He followed 
General Clarke once more, but there was a want of 
cohesion in the material organized for another expe- 
dition against the Wabash. These pioneers seldom 
kept entirely clear of the Indian. It was the lot of 
almost every one of them, once in the course of his 
struggling life, either to be made prisoner, or else to 
come as near to such an unpleasant condition, as to 
give a very ugly memory to the dreams of after life. 
Ballard had his share in such vicissitudes, ending, 
however, more agreeably than the captivity of some of 
his associates. While he was actively reconnoitering 
and dodging around the enemy, in pursuance of his 
duties as spy, he happened to be near that part 
of the Ohio where the noble city of Louisville now 
sends its hum of industry into the air, its tens of 
thousands of prosperous and happy citizens, as little 
mindful of the terrible ordeal through which their 
country passed, as if their city had an age like that 
of Rome. He was usually on the guard against sur- 
prise, as a man in his position must be. He was, 
however, set upon by five Indians. The odds were 
too many, and he had but one course — to submit. 



420 BLAND BALLAKD. 

The effect of this surrender was gratifying. The In- 
dians took him down the Ohio, a journey of twenty- 
five miles. To be taken by these savages away from 
the settlements, into their own recesses, is not the 
happiest pilgrimage in the world ; bnt he came into 
captm-e at a good time. Instead of a horrible gath- 
ering to delight themselves with the torture of a pris- 
oner, the Indians were abont to indulge in the more 
civilized amusement of horse racing. Probabl}^, 
never did southern gentleman regard the turf with 
more interest than did Ballard at this time. The oc- 
casion seemed to have made his captors merciful, for 
although they did not leave him without a guard, 
they did not add to his security by thongs. He kept 
the brightest possible look-out on all that the Indians 
did, fearing very much that they might be disposed 
to add him to the attractions of their day of 
amusement. 

The Indians must have been in a singularly frolic- 
some humor, for one of the chief incidents of the 
evening of the day of all this merriment, was to be 
a race between two very old warriors. These an- 
cients had not lost their desire for sport. They had 
lived in the days when the Indians had no white man's 
rifle to blaze across their path, but when the " whole 
boundless continent " was theirs. Surviving all their 
dangers of fight and chase, they were willing to 
let the young braves see that they had vigor una 



THE RACE FOR LIFE. 421 

muscle yet, for a trial of speed. Ballard had very 
o;enerous tliouglits toward any such intention on the 
part of the old men, since it tended to keep the tribe 
in good humor. The horse racing had gone off well. 
It was the " Derby day " for the red man ; and now 
for the tremulous contest of these sages of the tribe ! 
and the young men and the stout warriors were intent 
on the struggle. Off they start; the zeal of the 
days w^hen they were first in the hunt, was renewed. 
The old limbs are straining to conquer. It is most 
exciting; now this — now that — which is ahead? 
"Wigwam is deserted, and the Indian has forgotten 
liis usual apathy. Even the guard placed over Bal- 
lard feels it, and he must see the decision ; he leaves 
liim but a few paces, and for the instant the prisoner 
is but a subordinate affair. 

In our own day, there are fine horses on the Bear- 
grass river, for the Kentuckian justly boasts of the 
finest stock in America. And there were some 
there at the period of our narrative. The Indians 
had stolen thence a fine black horse. These pioneers 
thought quick. In an instant, while every eye was 
turned toward the two poor, old men, who were quiv- 
ering their very hearts in the desperate endeavor to 
get ahead, Ballard sprang on this horse, and put the 
animal to all his speed. Here w^as a race not an- 
nounced in the calendar. The aged rivals found their 
struggle suddenly to have lost its absorbing interest. 



BLAND BALLAKD. 

Chief, warrior, young men and old, leaped for the 
prisoner. It was not him alone, but the noble black 
of Beargrass, that was vanishing. " They rode and 
they ran." It was racing and chasing worthy of 
ballad like Young Lochinvar. It was decidedly the 
race of that day of sport. 

The savage, seldom forgiving an escape, and not at 
all likely to let the double crime of an escape and 
the raid of a fine horse go without the bitterest 
vengeance, was after him. It would have waked 
stone into life. The daring pioneer was in for this 
race for life ; and it was victory or death with him. 
The Beargrass steed was urged to all his power, and 
suddenly found himself the head of such a heat as 
never before wet the hair on his glossy skin. Behind 
him, the yell rang through the forest. It was the 
hour for the concentration of exertion, and Ballard 
dashed on with a speed that the Indian vainly sought 
to emulate. ^ But his racer had been quiet ; theirs 
had already strained their muscles. The fresh horse 
won. The pursuit was hot, almost to the river ; but 
the Indian is soon disheartened, and when he found 
himself so far in the rear, he turned back, to close his 
festive day with savage grief at his double loss. 
Ballard reached the settlement, safely ; but his noble 
black sank with the severe struggle, soon after he had 
borne his new master in triumph home. Ballard 
never afterward fell intc their power, except at the 



A DREADFUL TRAGEDY. 423 

Hiver Eaisin, where he was a prisoner of war, and re- 
ceived civilized usage. 

The pioneers usually wore a leather shirt. Theirs 
was not an occupation or a service where much intri- 
cacy in ruffles would have been advisable, but they 
knew how to prize the liner material when it, by 
some great good luck, fell to them. By three suc- 
cessive and unerring shots from his rifle, a canoe 
coming down the Ohio was emptied of three hostile 
Indians. For this guerrilla exqloit, General Clarke, 
probably from his own wardrobe, presented him with 
a linen shirt ; and it was for a long time greatly es- 
teemed, somewhat, in those primitive days, for its 
intrinsic worth, and probably not less so, as it evi- 
denced the approbation his commanding officer be- 
stowed upon his skill and bravery. Yery few of the 
pioneers, in those days, attained to the luxury of 
linen. It was not an era of elaborate toilet. The 
hunters of Kentucky were compelled to be " up and 
dressed " in time not adequate for any great care or 
nicety in attire. 

Bland Ballard saw fall, in one fatal massacre, his 
father, his sister, his half sister, his step-mother ; 
while his youngest sister, though tomahawked, re- 
covered. These were the tragedies which made the 
words, " Dark and Bloody Ground," as applied to Ken- 
tucky, no words of fancy. They wrote its history in 
blood. The pioneers, deprived by the foe of all th© 



424 BLAND BALLAED. 

dearest associations of life, became desperate, and 
tlie war between the races soon took tbe terrible form 
of a struggle for extermination. He witnessed tliese 
scenes when he was tv/enty-seven years of age. 
Men grow old prematurely under such experiences. 

In single handed combat with the Indians, Ballard 
was often engaged. In those desultory battles, so 
different from the close marching order of regular 
troops, the occasion often came when the man was 
compelled to cope with an antagonist. The Indian 
found Ballard a bold one. He had that acquaintance 
with the rifle that made the pioneer of Kentucky a 
household name among all camps in civilization. 
The skill of the hunter became tremendous in its 
power, when used in the strife of war. 

He, too, fought under " old Tippecanoe." He led 
his detachment at the River Raisin, and received 
wounds, the effects of which never left him. It was 
here that he again knew the fate of a prisoner ; but 
he fell into the hands of soldiery, who respected and 
observed the usages of warlike and honorable 'men, 
and was taken to the custody of Fort George. Across 
the peninsula of Canada West, no luxury of car 
awaited the order of the soldier. It was before these 
arts and conveniences of these better days had made 
even war less fearful. It was a painful march to 
which the prisoners were subjected, and Ballard suf 



ins GOOD OLt> AGE. 



125 



fcred by his inid-wlnter captivity, in a region where 
the climate has unwonted severity. 

This life of wnld adventure was extended to such 
a "good ohl age," that lie who had known Kentucky 
as a wilderness, a home maintained only by desperate 
bravery, could see around him all the associations of 
a state, so noble and so favored, that her wealth of 
man and of estate — of those who swayed the coun- 
cils of the nation, and of possessions of untold value 
■ — that these were memorable over the earth. It was 
reserved for this pioneer, as for Lafayette, to live in 
the midst of posterity. 




JOHN HARDIN. 

Hardin's father — his removal to the mokongahela — hui^ting a ne- 
cessity OF frontier life EARLY FRACTICE OF YOUNCJ HARDIN 1118 

FIRST MILITARY COMMAND JOINS CAPT. MORGAN's TROOPS 18 SEVERELY 

WOUNDED THE AVAR OF THE REVOLUTION HARDIN COMMISSIONED A3 

LIEUTENANT ATTACHED TO GEN. MORGAN's RIFLE CORPS ACCOMPANIES 

ARNOLD TO QUEBEC SERVES UNDER GATES AT SARATOGA DARING EX- 
PLOIT, AND NARROW ESCAPE REFUSES PROMOTION LEAVES THE ARMY 

REMOVES TO KENTUCKY SERVES UNDER GEN. CLARKE HIS TROUP.LES 

WITH THE INDIANS SENT ON A MISSION OF PEACE TO THEM THEIR 

TREACHERY — ^HIS DEATH. 

On the Monongaliela, that Hquid. name to which the 
European scholar delights to revert, wlien he would 
seek pleasant utterances in the languages of this side 
of the great water, the father of the subject of this 
sketch came, in 1765. Wild and exposed, a very 
frontier post, a faint dawning of the coming civiliza- 
tion, was this foothold of the w^hite man. Plis father 
was of that large class of men without whom society 
would be a painted shell — the laborer ; and in look- 
nig around Fiiuquier county, he thought, even in the 
middle of tha last century — now a hundred years 
ago — when we were yet in colonial obscurity, that 
Virginia might not always aiford sufficient verge and 
room enough for the farmer — certainly not for the 
hunter. The chase needs a large area. It is difficult 



HUNTING A NECESSITY OF FRONIIEK LIFE. 437 

to enumerate the leap of the deer by the "rod -pole 
or perch." But while Martin Hardin was so bold as 
to remove from the place of neighborhood and the 
protection of law, he did not quite like to go away 
from Yirginia. He did not calculate with the accu- 
racy of a surveyor. When the boundary between 
the states was arranged, he was found within the lim- 
its of that state, which was so gently purchased from 
Indian tenure, by that man who has so pleasant and 
precious name in American history, but whose niche 
in English record Macaulay has somewhat damaged 
• — Truth being the great Iconoclast of History. That 
portion of the Monongahela river bank where Martin 
Hardin fixed his cabin, lay within the line of Penn- 
sylvania. 

To hunt — to hunt well — became the business of 
the settler. It was not the sport of an idle day, the 
recreation after the winter's professional toil ; it was 
the art and skill learned under the tuition of grim 
necessity. Its success filled the cabin with plenty, 
and kept — in figure so clearly traceable to forest life 
— the wolf from the door. It was in the practice of 
this art, that the pioneer became of such deadly 
power with the rifle ; so that the Indian found his only 
safety either in peace or in the cover of shelter ; for 
the aim once taken, the shot went home to its mark. 

Martin had good practice for his son. In those 
days the game was abundant. The factories of Pitts- 



428 JOHN HARDIN. 

burgh, and the shriek of the steam whistle, and the 
tear of the escape valve, had not made the air a per- 
petual fright, and there was a constant reward to the 
roving boy. And he practiced in all days and all 
weathers, till he learned to fear the storm as little as 
did the ancient Highlander, and his unerring aim 
rang through the forest. " The Hunters of Kentucky " 
has become a synonym for skill of the brightest — 
courage of the boldest ; and history will yet bear 
record how admirably the men, thus fitted for their 
destiny, met the .storm of the revolutionary struggle 
and the border war. 

John Hardin held a military commission before 
the revolution, serving as ensign in a company raised 
for a foray upon the Indians. It is of interest to 
the annalist to reflect, that to Lord Dunmore, who 
had been brought into contact with so much of the 
pow^erful in intellect and the courageous in person, 
of the men of the court and the camp in Yirginia, the 
issues of the revolutionary contest must have been 
accurately seen. He knew well, that when such men 
took arms, there would be a conflict which, especially 
when freedom was the prize to be gained, could not 
be a losing one to them. When Hardin was just ar- 
rived of age, the fortune of war gave him a remem- 
brance of it, which he bore through life. It was the 
type of his destiny to him. He had not waited the 
mercenary process of enlistment, but had joined the 



IS SEVERELY WOUNDED. 429 

troop of Capt. Zack Morgan. This was a name asso- 
ciated in the revolution w^ith the utmost skill and 
efficiency as a partisan officer. Hardin was in the 
heat of the fight. Imitating the posture of one of 
the ranks of the ancient phalanx, he had in part knelt, 
that his aim might be certain ; and while in that posi- 
tion, the enemy fired a successful shot, which struck 
him on the side of his thigh, wounding it sadly, and 
depositing itself in his groin. The leaden evidence 
of that shot was never extracted. 

But up and away, even on crutches, the gallant 
hunter followed his army. It was a noble sight to 
witness the wounded young soldier in the line of 
march, with a wound, which, to one less bold, would 
have afforded ample excuse to have burthened the 
troops with a litter. 

On the Monongahela, after this campaign of 1774, 
Hardin renewed his hunting ; but over the hills and 
up the streams came the stories of the rising rebellion 
of the Boston boys, and a new and greater enemy, 
it was apparent, was to be taken into the account, 
by those whose life was on the frontier. The troub- 
les with England, it should always be recollected, 
bore deepest and strongest on the commercial quar- 
ters of the colonies at first ; and the far off settler 
joined his brethren from a feeling of common coun- 
try, and of home-born love for a free land. Hardin 
thought of Kentucky { for what Boone had done, and 



430 JOHN HARPIN. 

wliat had been followed up by Kenton and otlie* 
daring adventurers, had aroused hmi. Yet it wa3 
not safe to encounter the perils of an Indian wilder- 
ness journey, if the savage was to be stimulated by 
the encouragement and treasure of Great Britain. 

But there was, soon, no doubt of the struggle. 
The continental congress had committed the "lives 
and fortunes and sacred honor " of the nation to the 
war, and the camp welcomed the men of forest life 
as its best recruits. As second lieutenant, Hardin 
took commission. These evidences of the country's 
trust were precious. The compiler of these sketches 
recollects well his attendance at a social party at the 
house of brave old Solomon Yan Eensselaer, when, 
what seemed to him the ornaments of the room most 
to be prized, were the framed commissions of the vet- 
eran, the first in the series being that which bore the 
signature of Washington. 

Hardin's keen rifle was, appropriately, soon ranked 
in the service of that Morgan whose famous rifle corps 
are in grateful and honorable historic recollection. 
One may know how well its fame is deserved, as it 
is known of what superb material it was composed. 

Those were not the days of the " Minnie " and the 
revolver. It was necessary that the ball should 
strike sure, the first time, and tliat the Indian should 
be aware of that, as a fixed fact. The wagoner — • 
for such was- Daniel Morgan — was early trained to 



AN OFFICER OF THE CROWN. 431 

war. He was with that army of the crown, which 
has made Braddock's name memorable as associated 
with his own folly, and the skill and generalshij) of 
the young Washington. He bore the commission of 
an ensign in the troops of George the Third ; but he 
found his place soon in the army of the revolution 
"When Arnold belonged to the race of heroes — before 
he buried his memory in the darkness of his treason 
— when he, with a daring that is fit to rank with the 
days of modern Cerro Gordo and Alma, was ventur- 
ing the bravery of his troops against the strong cita- 
del of Quebec — the rifles of Morgan were with him. 
He shared the glorious assault, and the fortunes of 
the prisoner's fate. But his is a reputation which 
needs no illustration. Hardin served with such a 
commander. On one occasion, while reconoitering — 
it was while the army was in the north, ancjiunder 
the command of Horatio Gates, that true soldier — 
Hardin so astonished a group of the enemy, consist- 
ing of three soldiers of the British army and one In- 
dian, that, without waiting to see if he was alone, 
they surrendered, while he had every reason to ex- 
pect that their language would rather have been 
a volley. Hardin was too wary — too much a woods- 
man — to trust, entirely, this unexpected submission. 
He found their guns down, but he deemed it wise to 
call out to his party, who were in the rear. The in- 
stant his eye ceased to be fixed on his prisoners, the 



432 JOHN HARDIN. 

Indian rapidly changed the grasp of his gun. One 
second more, and the conqueror would have been 
the conquered ; but the light, as it gleamed on the 
gun, showed Hardin his danger. Up and off went 
both guns, but the bullet of Hardin was death's in- 
stant the quickest, and the Lidian fell, yet not with 
out having, by sending his bullet through Hardin's 
hair, taught him the thread of his escape. 

General Gates rewarded with his thanks the valor, 
and if the stories of the battle reached that cabin of 
the Monongahela, where old Martin Hardin dwelt, 
it was a glorious thought for the* woodman, that his 
gallant son had thus won the notice of the command- 
ing officer. Hardin had the manly good sense to 
know where was his sphere of duty, and he refused 
promotion, as its effect would have been to change 
hfm M another regiment. He left the army in 1779, 
and looked about for a home. Traversing Kentucky, 
he was not deterred by the terrible w^inter that fol- 
lowed, from making that state his residence, and in 
1786, he moved into the center of the state — that 
county which bears the name of the Father of his 
Country. 

He, too, like all other brave Kentuckians — for now he 
was one — followed the banner of Gen. George Rogers 
Clarke, and shared his campaigns. Indeed, this gen- 
eral seems to have been the Marlborough of his day 
— his name interwoven with all the wars of the state 



HIS DEATH BY TliEACHEKiT. 433 

Tlie Indians harassed Hardin in every way. They 
skirmished around him, hovered near -his farm, made 
successful raids into his property, lifted — as the ex- 
pression of the Highlander had it — his cattle, and 
absolutely left his plow without a horse. But they 
sent their blows at a shield that was sure to press 
forward. Wherever Kentucky called for an expedi- 
tion against the savages, there was the rifle of Hardin. 

And, at last, the warrior, the forest-trained, daring 
warrior, was sent on a mission of peace ; and it is 
pleasant here to remember, that, years before, he had 
enrolled his name among those who worshiped in 
that pioneer church — so faithful even in the wilder- 
ness — the Methodist. Wilkinson selected him to 
propose a peace to the Indian tribes, and he obeyed, 
though he knew the Indian so well as to be self- 
warned of the danger. The Indian's treachery was 
proverbial. He arrived at an Indian camp, near 
Fort Defiance, and rested beneath their roof. They 
were false to their guest, and in the morning shot him 
to death ; thus meeting, in the very zenith of his life, 
a violent death, in the discharge of the most grateful 
duty a true-hearted soldier knows — an offer for peace. 
And so this gentle-hearted but firm pioneer passed 
away, and Kentucky preserves his memory as of 
those dear to her, by his devotion to her cause. 



BENJAMIN LOGAN. 

BIS BIRTH-PLACE VIRGINIA AS A COLONY HER GREAT MEN DEATH OF LO- 

GAN's FATHER NOBLE CONDUCT OF THE SON SERVES AS A SOLDIER — ' 

REMOVES TO KENTUCKY CHOOSES A HOME AND BUILDS A FORT ITS LO« 

CATION REMOVES HIS FAMILY TO HARRODSBURGH DANGER FROM THK 

INDIANS REMOVAL OF HIS FAMILY TO HIS OWN FORT ATTACKED BY THK 

INDIANS LOGAn's BRAVERY HE RESCUES ONE OF HIS COMPANIONS A 

PROTRACTED SIEGE WANT OF AMMUNITION LOGAN GOES TO HARRODS- 
BURGH FOR A SUPPLY PERILS OF THE JOURNEY HIS SUCCESS AND SAFE 

[ RE TORN OBSTINACY OF THE SIEGE AND THE DEFENSE COL. BOWMAN 

COMES TO THE RESCUE FLIGHT OF THE SAVAGES HIS OTHER MILITARY 

SERVICES LOGAN AS A CIVILIAN ^HIS INDIAN NAMESAKE. 

f This was one of the most distinguished of the Pi- 
oneers of Kentucky, deserving of the high place he 
hits in the histories of that state, and jet, such is the 
wayward course of popular remembrance, it is ques- 
tionable whether the name of Logan is not, in the 
mind of most our people, associate with the eloquent 
Indian chief, whose pathetic address over his slaugh- 
tered family, was made prominent to the notice of 
mankind, by the attention given it by Thomas Jef- 
ferson. 

His parents were foreign born. They fixed their 
abode in this country, at first, in Pennsylvania, but 
afterward transferred their residence to Augusta 
county, in Yirginia. There, where the bold scenery 



VIRGINIA AS A COLONY. 435 

of the Blue Eidge, and the more thau miigic wonder 
of the great cave of Wejer, will always make memo- 
rable their localities, Logan was born. These w^era 
the days of Virginia as a colony, and it is questiona- 
ble whether England, in sending Lord Botetourt and 
the Earl of Dunmore to preside over its affairs, could 
have found in all her colonial dependencies, situations 
of higher honor. The men who were gathered in 
Yirginia then, were such as may have been present 
to the mind of Sir William Junes, when he depicted 

"What constitutes a state? — 
Not high raised battlement and labored mound, 
Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud. * * « ♦ 
Men, high-minded Men, * * « 
Men, who their duties know, 

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain — 
Prevent the long aimed blow. 

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain— 
These constitute the State." 

It is well for us to go back to those days. They 
do not belong to Yirginia alone, but to all, and no 
incident of time's progress can rend them from us. 
How noble was the collection of the great and the 
gifted, when that colony could send, as its delegation 
to the provincial congress, such an assemblage as 
George Washington, Peyton Randolph, Eichard 
Henry Lee, Edmund Pendleton, Eichard Bland, iBen- 
jamin Harrison, Patrick Hemy, and these did not 



436 BENJAMIN LOGAN. 

exhaust lier honored and honorable. It was m such 
a colony, in its center, that Logan was born. If ex- 
ample, if stirring incident, if the events that mould 
men, can form character, that of the Virginian in 
that time must have possessed lineaments of strength 
a»d patriotism. 

Virginia followed England in her laws, and the 
right of primogeniture gave the first-born the best of 
the estate. It was to build up one, and make de- 
pendents of the many. It is not an institution for 
our day, nor is it one to which the republican heart 
beats responsive. When the father of Logan died, 
which event, always of the saddest that comes across 
the page of life, took place in Logan's fourteenth 
year, his birthright gave him the lands which his 
father had held. When Wade Hampton, of South 
Carolina, opened the will of his father's princely es- 
tate, he found that it was all left to liim, to the exclu- 
sion of his brothers and sisters. Its provisions made 
him vastly wealthy. He called the other children 
together, read out the contents of the will to them, 
and threw the document, all signed and sealed and 
verified, into the fire. And of such noble conduct 
was the act of Logan. He took care of all left around 
him, and not till he had seen mother and kindred 
provided with a home, did he look out for his own. 
He chose his residence on Holston river. It war 
nearer the Cumberland mountains — nearer ihosQ 



SERVES AS A SOLDIER. 48T 

scenes of glowing life, of rich land, and boundless do- 
main^ at the sight of which Findley, and Boone, and 
Stewart went forth. And so he left the Blue Kid^e, 
and made his southward way. 

The soldier was soon discernible in Logan. He 
was one of those men to whom the bold was the 
beautiful. He was of the troops of Col. Beauquette, 
where, although his rank was not very exalted, being 
that of a sergeant, he did good service. He followed 
the standard of Dunmore when that nobleman led an 
expedition to the northwest of Ohio. 

He was now near the Cumberland mountains, and 
beyond them lay Kentucky. If our readers will rec- 
ollect the animated interest which pervaded that 
section of country when Boone returned from his ex-- 
pedition — the manner in which he confirmed the sto- 
ries of Findley — the earnestness in which that truth- 
ful man depicted the advantages which would result 
from a brave march thither, and occupation — they 
will understand how readily Logan was induced to 
turn his look toward Kentucky. The famous Hen- 
derson — ^that man who achieved the possession of a 
state, which, however ephemeral, incorporated Tran- 
sylvania into history — w^as one whom Logan met. 
He traveled also with Boone himself — a meeting of 
the brave to which one would have gone weary pil- 
grimage to have been witness. Li reference to the 
proper plan o^ settlement, he judged for himself; he 



188 BENJAMIN LOGAN. 

left his companions, and made his home in what is 
now the county of Lincohi, near the center of the 
state. Here, like a soldier, he was not content with 
an ordinary log house. He knew what the times 
were, and what was all around him, and he built a 
fort. These pioneers, in this, acted, only on a ruder 
scale, just as did the nobles of the Rhine, formerly, 
when they built fortress and stronghold on all such 
places — however extraordinary seems to us the loca- 
tion — as promised security from the foe. This was 
about a mile west of the present town of Stanford. 
Between this fort and his residence, on the Holston 
river, he made repeated journeys, fearless of all the 
dangers that were in every form of savage or wild 
beast. Tliese were in themselves such trials of cour- 
age as are now heard lightly, but in their hour were 
of the boldest. He traversed a country ais a soldier, 
keenly alive to the necessity of the strictest guard 
against surprise, where now these pages may be read 
in all the ease of the traveler who knows no danger, 
except from peril to a locomotive. 

When 1776 came with its decisive movement for in- 
dependence, Logan removed his family, and became 
one of the pioneers of Kentucky. There is a trait of 
character developed here, which at once makes the 
man a favorite with all who respect the brave. The 
Indian was intensely excited that year. Under the 
lead of B(^one, the settler had begun to rear hia 



REMOTES HIS FAMILY TO KENTUCKY. 439 

Iiouse where their wigwam had been supreme ; the 
wliite man's rifle brought down their game, and by 
its power disputed sway over their hunting ground. 
The signs of decay were on them, and they made ev- 
ery demonstration of ferocity to avert their fate. 
They thought it was their very life to crush out the 
settler, and he who came into that land at that day, 
must work as did the nobles who gathered around 
Nehemiah, in the rebuilding of the chosen city's 
walls — the sword in one hand. At this time, Har- 
rodsburgh offered a greater security from the concen- 
tration of a larger number of settlers, who formed a 
company that the Indian hesitated to attack. To 
this safety Logan removed his wife and family. He 
'«^ent back to his fort and farm, turning aside from 
no peril. There he passed that memorable year with 
the men whom he had brought out with him ; and 
though danger was in every day, they were not mo- 
lested. The Providence that directs the nations 
watched over over these beginnings of a great people. 
There were brave women, as well as daring men, 
m those days. Mrs. Boone .had followed her hus- 
band, amidst a wilderness that seemed more likely to 
afford a grave than a shelter ; Mrs. Logan left Ilar- 
rodsbugh and ventured the dangers of the fort. 
Where her husband was, was home, and it was wise 
to risk peril for that good. Logan knew the addi- 
tional res2>onsibilitv which this imposed. It was ap- 



440 BENJAMIN LOGAN. 

j)alling enough to hear the Indian's yell in the night, 
when men were around him; but when ho knew 
the fearful sound reached the ear of her who had 
come to that wild place, to follow with devoted heart 
his fortunes, it acquired a terror that reached the in- 
ner heart. But he gathered around him a welcome 
reinforcement of men, who had found the fort, and 
prepared for whatever chance of peace or war might 
be his to experience. 

The trial soon came. In all their fury, an hundred 
Indians trampled on through the forest, determined 
to destroy the fort, and their number seemed adequate 
to the purpose. Their attack found a portion of the 
force outside the logs, and when the Indians fired, 
there was a bitter loss. One of the wounded, named 
Harrison, fell, and failed to reach the fort. To res- 
cue him was to draw the fire of the Indians, who, 
encouraged by their success, were ready to seize ev- 
ery advantage, and to follow it up. The assault had re- 
diujed the garrison from fifteen to twelve. To venture 
on another fire, seemed madness ; but there lay the 
wounded man, and Logan would not leave him there. 
" Who will go with me and bring him in? " said he — 
and there was no response. It is diflicult to call this 
refusal cowardice, for the voice of good judgment 
would have told the stern decision, that it was duty 
to preserve what remained, and that, sad as it was 
to leave the wound^jd, there was a higher obligation 



WANT OF AMMUNITION. 44:1 

to the living. One man — John Martin — could not 
resist Logan's appeals, and with him Logan rushed 
forward. The threatened fire blazed as thoj left the 
gate, and Martin retreated, but Logan dashed on. 
The balls cut the air all around him. He threw poor 
Harrison on his shoulders, and though a hundred 
rifles flashed, he sprang back into the fort, unharmed. 
This exasperated the Lidians, and they pushed for- 
ward with all their strength ; but the garrison had 
their leader with them, and won to greater determi- 
nation by the act of bravery wliich they had just 
witnessed in their leader, they fought nobly. The 
Lidians seemed resolved to conquer, and the indica- 
tions of a prolonged siege soon became ajDparent. 
The garrison fired a fatal rifle whenever the foe ap- 
23eared within its range, its owner cheered by the 
heroism of the women in the fort, who moulded the 
bullets. They did not fear the savage while they 
had powder and ball as their allies; but their ammu- 
nition was not abundant, and if that was exjiausted, 
the fort would be a speedy prey, and worse than 
death awaited the captured. More supplies must be 
had. AYho was brave enough to find his way through 
the woods to the settlements, with such a foe in all 
their might? and vvho would be found, if Logan went 
this journey of peril, to lead the garrison — to con- 
duct the defense — most of all, to protect the women, 



4:42 BENJAMIN LOGAir. 

whose every hope under heaven was in the cour- 
age of the besieged? 

Logan dared the journey. He gave his garrisor 
the word of a brave man, that his return would be a 
speedy one, if life remained. It did not need this 
assurance. It was enough for him, that the wife that 
had braved all these perils for his love, remained. 
He looked around among his men, to see who would 
be courageous enough to take the journey with him, 
and finding two that he could thus trust, in the night, 
when least of all did the Indians think that any one 
would leave the fort, believing, as they did, that it 
was to the strength of the fort the white man owed 
all his protection, they started on their perilous jour- 
TUQy. It is gratifying for the annalist to mark how su- 
perior, even in his own forest strategy, the white man, 
by the power of his knowledge, became. That was 
a breathless moment, when, tearing himself away 
from his faithful wife — who could not but have 
thought it most probable that his farewell was a fin a i 
one — he stepped out into the open ground beyond 
the fort. The Indian had his lines about, but they 
who sought to thread them had all the Indian's saga- 
city, with a deeper skill superadded. They moved as 
silently as tlie tread of the bird, and, watching as 
keenly as the friendly darkness would allow, they 
succeeded in ])assing through the enemy's forces. Ixy 
gan was too wary to take an ordinary road. Trnstinf? 



OBSTINACY OF THE SIEGE AND THE DEFENSE. 4:4.0 

k> his knowledge of sun and star and woodcraft, lie 
pushed for the wiki mountain, and soon left an inter- 
val between him and the fort, though it seemed to 
him as if he was parting from life, to leave the place 
where he had left what was dearer to him than life. 
Over mountain — through fastness — ^liere avoiding a 
convenient path, lest his Indian foe might have 
straggling adherent there, who would communicate 
to the besiegers that so important part of the defense 
as the commander had gone — his bold heart braved 
all peril, night and day ; and he came to the Holston 
river, procured his supplies, and made every ar- 
rangement to have them brought on. Then hasten- 
ing back, he faced the dangers of the journey again, 
and this time alone. Like Boone, he had small fear 
of solitude, whatever of darkness might overshadow, 
or peril seem to threaten. Men of the woods and 
border wars soon learned to discern the vast dif- 
ference between fancied dangers and real ones. 

Meanwhile, the siege continued; and the defen- 
ders, economizing their powder and lead, fired so 
surely that no successful effort was made to carry the 
fort by assault. IS'evertheless, the ten days in which 
Logan was absent, were of the longest. 

But they passed ; and trium]3hing, as before, by 
the utmost sagacity, over all the journey — its dan- 
gers increasing at fearful augmentation as he neared 
his destination — he succeeded in reaching the gate of 



444 BENJAMIN LOGAN. 

the fort; and never did its rude hinges move more 
gratefully, than when the word was given that Logan 
had returned. In our calm day we can faintly real- 
ize the emotions of joy with which wife and friends 
welcomed the brave Logan. Now they fought with 
renewed courage. If the powder was measured out 
closely, and every bullet seemed more than golden in 
value, they knew that there was good hope of more, 
and they fought on. The Indians were troubled at 
the tenacity of the defense, but still blazed away, 
and expected to weary the garrison out. Suddenly 
they found their attention called to their own safety. 
The quick eye of the savage told him the signs of a 
force approaching, and he found himself, most unex- 
pectedly and unwillingly, between the besieged and 
an advancing rescue. The news of the attack on tlie 
fort had found its way to Colonel Bowman, and he 
pushed on to its relief. The assistance came oppor- 
tunely, and when the Indians fled, the garrison felt 
that never was rescue more desirable. Of this siege, 
as of that of Boonesborongh, our military annals 
have too long been silent. Less valorous defenses 
have immortalized men ; and it is time that these sol- 
diers of the Bevulution, Boone, and Logan, and 
Clarke, should be raised to the proper rank of their 
fame in our history. 

That very year (1777) he was again so near the In- 
dians, in one of his forays, that tliey seized tlio tni; 



HIS BRAVERY AT CmLLICOTHE. 445 

of his horse. This was on a hunting expedition. 
Two years afterward, he was second in command un 
der Colonel Bowman in the disastrous expedition 
against Chillicothe — disastrous, because Logan was 
not the superior officer. Broken up and dishear- 
tened as it was bj the extraordinary inertness of the 
cliief officer, it was not till after Logan had made a 
Monterey fight, from cabin to cabin, and under a 
breastwork of the plank floors which he tore up- 
astonishing the Indian by the skill of his attack and 
the movable nature of his defenses — that Lo^-an re- 
luctantly obeyed the order to retreat. The records 
of this fight exonerate Logan from the untoward fate 
of the day, and the Indians who gloried greatly in 
having won the battle, remembered severely the bold 
part taken by Logan, and did not attribute their vic- 
tor}^ to his failure. 

If Logan could only have been present at the bat- 
tle of the Blue Licks, whither he was hastening with 
a powerful force — if Boone's counsels to await his 
coming, could have prevailed — the fate of that sad day 
would have been different. Kentucky lost brave 
sons that day, and mourned, for many a long year, 
the rashness that precipitated the fight against tlie 
advice of the old soldier. 

Then Logan went back to the pursuits of the far- 
mer, and thus contributed his share to the early agri- 
cuitural prosperity of his rich state. He shouldered 



^tG benjamin LOtfJAN. 

his rifle once more against the marauding Indians 
in 1788. 

In civil life, Colonel Logan contributed his share 
to the formation of the republic, and the maturing 
of the state. Seldom has a state been enabled to 
call into its counsels, so many from among the ranks 
of those who had been conspicuous in battle, who 
could wisely determine the best policy to be pursued 
in the calmer walks of life. But the soldiers of Ken- 
tucky were not a hired or mercenary army. They 
were the pioneers — the settlers — the men who con- 
quered the land on which they sought to live, and 
who only awaited the close of hostilities, to be indus- 
trious in all the arts of peace. In many respects, 
George Washington was of the school of the Ken- 
tucky pioneer. He had the same fondness for tlTe 
sports and craft of the forest — the same steadfast, 
single purpose to rescue the country to civilization — ■ 
the same familiarity with danger — the same desire to 
abide by his rural home. 

There was an Indian who took the name of the 
subject of our sketch, by whom he was once made 
prisoner, who was of memorable lineage, since of 
near kindred to him were Tecumseh and the Prophet 
— those strange, great men, to whom after ages will 
look back with majestic interest. He led a brave 
life, made himself memorable by acts of valor, and 
penshed, at last, in a combat of the most daring 



HIS INDIAJsr NAMESAKE. 



447 



boldness. Tlie Kentucky pioneer is rememT)ered in 
liis state with the honor due a life of faithful ser- 
vice ; but for the Indian — " Who is tliere to mourn 
for Logan f^"^ 



29 




WILLIAM RUSSELL. 

HIS RIRTU AND RESIDENCE IN VIRGINIA DANGER" ATTENDING THE FBOR 

TIER SETTLEMENTS RUSSELL SERVES UNDER BOONE HIS EARLY OHAR« 

ACTER — Bullitt's lick — the manufacture of salt there — dangees 

ATTENDING IT NECESSITY FOR CONSTANT GUARD AGAINST SURPRISE^ 

STEALTHINESS of the SAVAGES RUSSELL AN ACTOR IN SUCH SCENES 

HE VISITS KENTUCKY THE HARD WINTER VISITS THE INFANT SETTLE- 
MENT AT NASHVILLE ASSISTS IN ITS DEFENSE THE BATTLE OF KING's 

MOUNTAIN THE VIRGINIA MOUNTED REGIMENT^ RUSSELL SECOND IN 

COMMAND ^HIS BRAVERY HE REMOVES TO KENTUCKY SERVES UNDER 

WAYNE AND HARRISON. 

YiRGiNiA was a province when tlie pioneer whose 
career is the subject of this narrative was born. It 
was in 1758, near the period of that contest, the last 
our fathers fought for England, and the last in which 
the crown found the men of Yirginia struggling to 
secure the dominion of royalty over this fair country. 
It was in the days of the old Fren<ih war— a period 
of struggle, the narration of which would exhibit 
heroism and incident of such interest, as would arouse 
the grateful recollection of our people that such an 
ancestry was ours. It is a memorable fact in the an- 
nals of the Pioneers of Kentucky, that to many of 
them it was given to pass the forming years of their 
life through such a series of the boldest and most 
eventful scenes, as originated from the war with 



JOURNEY INTO TTTE ^'TLDEP.NESS. 449 

France, the revolution, and the long endurance of 
the border Indian fights. Tliev were inured to war 
in all its forms. The discipline of the European 
troops, and the vigor and expedients of the huntei*, 
were combined in them. 

At an early age, the father of Kussell left liis liome 
in Culpepper county, and souglit the far off south- 
western region, near where the Cumberland range 
lifts its heights; a wild region then, and even now 
replete with all the features of the gorge, the crag, 
the fastness. It was a journey demanding courage 
and enterprise. Culpepper w^as in that portion of - 
the state to which the alarms of Indian warfare came 
unheeded. In going to the frontier, all the defenses 
of concentrated life were left behind. The soldier 
was near the Potomac, and there the sound of artil- 
lery could be summoned to the rescue ; but he who 
went to the Cumberland, traveled with his rifle as his 
friend. He must know the wood camp as his protec- 
tion, and the watch-fire as his guard. N'o man else could 
go to those counties — not counties then, but remote 
lands — to which Dunmore and the other royal gov- 
ernors gave small heed ; rather leaving them to such 
defense as the scattered pioneers could gather to- 
gether, than affording them aid from any of the co- 
l lonial forces. The pioneer counted on all these difli- 
culties, and rather wooed danger than avoided it. 

Virginia has had the good taste and justice to fix 



450 WILLIAM RUSSELL. 

on her map, tlie name of Kussell to one of lier soutli- 
western counties ; thus giving to the future the grate- 
ful memory of the services he had rendered. It is 
one of a group of counties, each of them bearing 
names associate with those who have been distin- 
guished in the times of earnest action for freedom. 
In such names as Washington, and Scott, and Lee, 
and Eussell, the historian recalls the good and the 
brave. 

Russell had the forest education. Excepting in 
the case of Jo Daviess, the career of the pioneers 
received little aid from the learning of the college. 
It was in this frontier school, where there never was 
Becurity for life, and where the day most prosperous 
or agreeable might terminate in the wildest assault, 
tliat Russell learned self-reliance — to be collected in 
purpose and concentrate in action. 

He soon took upon himself the duties and perils of 
maturer life, though in age but a boy. He was but 
fifteen when he formed part of a company which, 
under the leadership of Daniel Boone, went out to 
repel the incursions of the Indians. It was a mem- 
ory worth cherishing, to have served in the troop of 
the great pioneer ; for from him could be learned the 
superior wood-craft of the unequaled hunter, and the 
tactics of the soldier. Ardent, and determined to 
do all his duty, he emulated the labors of the older 
men around him, and bore fatigues beyond his 



ma EARLT CHARACTER. 4r5l 

Btrength. It is a curions trait of the times, that so 
many verj young men became prominent ; taking 
upon themselves the privations, and enduring the 
hardships, Whicli, in our own more hixurious day, 
are seldom assumed until the frame is thoroughly 
knit together by the growth of maturer years. We 
read of the pioneers — of their hard life — ^their long 
marches — their courageous encounters — their skill in 
foray and siege — and forget that those who have 
left such record were young men, scarcely arrived at 
the age of manhood, forced into toils and sufferings 
to which this quiet age is utter stranger, and render- 
ing it a marvel that so many of these storm-tossed 
young men reached such hearty old age as, it is glad 
to think, was their lot. 

It was said of Zachary Taylor, that he " grew up to 
manhood with the yell of the savage and the crack 
of the rifle almost constantly ringing in his ears." 
It was equally true of Russell. A man who, at fif- 
teen, when he could not really carry his rifle through 
a long march, and who was compelled to keep guard 
over the very door of his father's house, had a youth 
that left no trace of mediocrity. He took life by its 
boldest grasp, at once. 

From the time that he followed Boone in repelling 
the attacks of the southern Indians, who had Inade 
t-us attack on the infant settlements, to the year 
i 79, the south-western part of Virginia was one 



452 ^"ILLTAII EUSSELL. 

Bcene of harassing alarms. It is well for us to real- 
ize of wliat these alanns were. In our day, to all 
the closer portions of our country, the sound of an 
invasion or an incursion is utterly unknown. We 
read of the bloody days of the border wars, and read 
them with interest, but not with any feeling of asso- 
ciation. Tliey might be the truth, or they might be 
the fiction of the Arabian story-teller. They awake 
the thrill of those who hear, but not the sympathy of 
the fellow actor. It is one thing to know no war 
g;*eater than that of street skirmish, which may, in 
a score of years, be witnessed in a metropolis — the 
invaders, the police, and the mob, the invaded — but 
of the midnight rattle of the rifle, the sharp sound 
cracking amid the demoniac yell of the savage, 
heard when the sleeping hour is sweetest — for that 
darkest hour before the dawn was the favorite time 
for attack — of all this we know nothing. It is in his- 
tory such scenes live ; and none can appreciate the 
storm in which such states as Virginia and Kentucky 
were cradled, without attentive perusal of such an- 
nals. The worst chapters in such history — those 
which give us strongest impressions of the realities 
of the dangers, are found not so much in the accounts 
of the leading battles of that period, but in the per- 
sonal adventures of the pioneers. 

Tlireading their early lives, there were escapes 
which seemed to realize all of danger that could ap 



453 

pal the lieart, and yet from out which the pioneer 
was brought safely, under circumstances, frequently, 
where the man must have been indurated in infi- 
delity, if he could not recognize the merciful in- 
terposition. 

It is more than seventy years since salt was made 
at Bullitt's Lick. The Indians resorted there, and 
combined their hunting expedition with a pursuit 
which, however useful, was not at all to their liking 
— distinguished as they were for their aversion to be 
classed among the producing classes — the manufac- 
ture of salt. There were guides to these salt licks, 
who told even the Indian where they were to be 
found — the buffalo and the deer. There was vast 
difficulty, of course, in procuring the salt from the 
eastward, and the settlers soon congregated around 
the Lick ; for all were not so self-denying as the bold 
old hunter, Boone, who could pass his months with- 
out either salt or sugar. There were scenes in those 
salt works to which Syracuse and Cracow are stran- 
gers. The hunters divided — part of them worked at 
the boiling, and part hunted to supply the forest ta- 
ble ; and — a characteristic of the insecurity of their 
position — the remainder served as an advance guard. 
The crystals cost the settlers such price as made the 
salt more precious than gold. The Indian hated to 
see the white man thus engaged — not but that lie 
liked well to see the heavy hand of labor en the 



454 WILLIAM liUSSELL. 

whites ; but It seemed like an invasion of the rights 
of the owner of the soil, and the very industry of the 
settler was a perpetual reproach. It was part of the 
arts which he used, and before the exercise of which 
the Indian felt himself fading away. So, when the 
work was busy — when the furnaces glowed, and the 
tramp of the laboring man was all around — when the 
manufacturer, and the hunter, and the guard were 
all on the alert — the Indian crept behind the trees, 
and thirsted for the opportunity to send the shots of 
of his warriors' rifles among the grou]DS below ; and 
they would have been hurled there, but for the fact 
he knew so well, that the vengeance of the hunter 
would be rapid and certain. 

There is a knot there which bears the name of Ca- 
bre's Ivnot, and it is associated with a thrilling inci- 
dent. There was all the glare and bustle of a busy 
workino^ time. The liarht of the furnaces shone 
through the forest. The Indian saw, and was en- 
raged at, the spectacle. Cabre was bound in a 
chestnut oak, the Indians intending . to burn him 
in sight of the Lick itself — it might be so that the 
sacrifice could in reality be seen, and yet not its na- 
ture detected till assistance was too late. The In- 
dians had collected their fagots from the pitch pine ; 
and while every preparation for the horror was ma- 
king, some oxen, grazing on the hill, moved through 
the thicket. The Indians mistook tlie sound for that 



455 

of an approach of a rescue party of tlie whites 
Tliey hastened to hide themselves in the opposite 
thicket, and Cabre slipping off tlie cords that bound 
him, darted througli the darkness and escaped. 
There was new life among those salt boilers when that 
panting fugitive arrived among them, and the ladle 
was exchanged for the rifle, instantly. They who 
had met to destroy, became tlie object of pursuit, 
and the trail was struck and followed until they 
reached the Ohio river. 

This episode in our sketch has been made only 
to instance what perils attended every movement of 
the pioneer. Russell was in the midst of such histo- 
ries, and worked out his manhood under such cir- 
cumstances of alarm and constant warfare, that when 
a home was once gained, it seemed intensely more 
valuable than if gained by ordinary means. And 
this entered so deeply in the sorrows of the pioneers 
like Boone and Kenton, that after they had fought 
inch by inch for the land — after they had kno^vn 
what it was almost literally to track out its lines with 
their blood, to have it speculated and intrigued away 
from them, seemed doubly hard. They hnew they 
had fought for it, and they did not comprehend how 
any title could be better or greater than that of 
which they were so conscious. 

In 1780 he visited Kentucky. It was the memora- 
ble hard winter — the time so well remembered even 
T 



4:56 WILLIAM EUS8ELL. 

now by our very old men, and fearful, indeed, in tlie 
new counb-ies— wliere it sliut the door of the log 
cabin against all departures, and drove the game to 
the very verge of tlie settlements, in vain effort to 
find subsistence. Nashville, in Tennessee, was then 
but the beginning — the faint and feeble beginning — 
of its present condition. Russell visited and helped 
its founders defend their home. 

ISTor did he alone signalize himself in his encoun- 
ters with the Indians. The same courage which made 
him a volunteer under Boone, impelled him to the 
bravest service in tlie cause of the country, in one of 
its most severe revolutionary battles. At King's 
Mountain he was conspicuous for his daring. That 
was a bold fight, and one in wliich these daring pio- 
neers took noble part. The causes which encouraged 
the over-mountain emigration of Boone, were closely 
connected with this battle. Kindred loyalists, whose 
conduct di'ove off the humble frontier settler, rallied 
willingly around the standard which Colonel Fergu- 
son, acting under the orders of Cornwallis, had raised 
in the Carolinas. The English officer mistook the 
character of those in whose country was his warfare. 
The very abuse of his power drove the militia— the 
citizen soldiery of those states — to desperation. 
They sent far and wide to their brethren for aid 
Among others, came young E-ussell, second in com- 
mand of the Virginia mounted regiment. Circum 



SERVES UNDER WAYNE AND HARRISON. 



457 



stances soon placed him in full command, and it is 
Lis distinguished record, tliat it is believed that he 
was the first to reach the summit of the inountain, 
and to him the first surrender of a sword was made. 
He followed up the gallant service by a series of 
bold passages as a soldier, in successive engagements. 
And when this long and weary war was over, Eus- 
sell removed to Kentucky, and became one of its pi- 
oneers. He found, in Fayette county, no easy home. 
The fierce Indian assailed the inhabitants in all forms 
of attack, and the soldier found his life a succession 
of warfare. Thus educated to bravery, it is but in 
the regular line of courage that he afterward served 
successfully under Anthony Wayne and William 
Henry Harrison. They were appropriate leaders for 
brave men to follow. To him Harrison assigned the 
defense of the frontiers of Indiana, Illinois and Mis- 
souri. And so passed the life of the pioneer, even 
t) its almost three-score and ten, in noble hearted 
fi^rvice to his country. 




SILAS HARLAN. 

OHARACTTEli GIVIEN HARLAN BT GEN. CLARKE PLACE OF HIS BIRTH HIS EARL 

REMOVAL TO KENTUCKY DANGERS INCIDENT TO THE FRONTIER SETTLE- 
MENTS STRUGGLES WITH THE SAVAGES BORDER ENCOUNTERS CAS8IDEY, 

THE IRISHMAN HIS CAPTURE BT THE INDIANS HIS ESCAPE HARLAN's 

LIFE PASSED AMID SUCH PERIL HE BUILDS A FORT THE DISASTROUS 

BATTLE AT THE BLUE LICKS HARLAN IS SLAIN. 

When General George Rogers Clarke could say 
of a pioneer, that "he was one of the bravest and 
most accomplished soldiers that ever fought bj his 
Bide," such a man, though his career was a brief one 
• — though he did not come down to our day, or to the 
later and more prosperous times of the state, for 
which as a frontier colony and county he fonght — 
3uch a man cannot be spared from the list of memora- 
ble men. 

It is not in a brief notice that the life of the great 
leader, who spoke thus kindly of the subject of this 
sketch, should be portrayed. Clarke deserves the 
volume. The biography of such a man should be 
no imperfect review, but a carefully prepared, an 
elaborate record of the service of him who seems to 
have organized the pioneers into order ; who led the 
battle, arranged the council, followed with the tread 
of the soldier the footsteps of Boone ; who seems to 



PLACE OF HIS BIRTH. 459 

Jiave been by the side of every pioneer, and v/bose 
name and fame Kentucky ought to cherish, as of her 
very dearest. 

There are few incidents in Harlan's life, but those 
which are recorded of him, prove his bravery. lie 
was born in Berkley county in Virginia; for that no- 
ble old state seemed never weary of sending forth 
Iier sons to dare the dangers of the wilderness and 
the savage. And never did dominion, ancient or 
modern, hold nobler province than w^as this county 
of Kentucky. It is significant evidence of the great- 
ness of Virginia, that all that superb land over whose 
riches and fertility — capacity to be the home of mil- 
lions — Findley and Boone so luxuriated, was once 
held but as a county. 

Harlan came very early into Kentucky — as early 
as 1774:. He came to find his lot at once cast amidst 
the wildest tumults — the most vivid alarms — the 
ceaseless attacks of the Indians, who just then began 
to realize the fate that was coming over him. He 
saw that unless he tore out of the land every vestige 
of the white man, there was an end to all that the 
hunting ground and the undisturbed lodge could 
furnish. The Indian exhibited, in his vain etforts to 
retain possession of his old inheritance, sometimes 
the ferocity of a demon — shutting himself out of all 
the ordinary sympathies of mankind — and sometimes 
a bravery which would have rendered a Roman im- 



400 SILAS HAELAN. 

mortal in fame. There was terrific resolution, which 
enabled them to set at defiance all that could make 
the heart of the boldest quiver, and there was an 
alienation from the very ties of human nature. 

The annals of the sattlers are one series of inci- 
dents illustrating the Indian in his ludicrous, and, 
far more frequently, in liis terrible, phases of 
character. 

In 1Y90, there was a man by the name of Zadock 
Milhaus working in a tobacco field. It was near a 
station called Stockter's. While he was pursuing his 
work — probably not dreaming of the presence of a 
foe— a shot from an Indian, who had crept, unob- 
served, within gun shot, brought him down. The 
settler could not pursue an ordinary duty without 
this risk. The Indian was not alone ; others, as fero- 
cious, were with him; and they were proceeding to 
complete their w^ork of cruelty, when an old negro 
woman at the fort seized a tin horn, and such was 
the horrible nature of her blasts thereon, that the 
Indians fled in dismay. The savage could not stay 
for further victories that day. 

There was, in the locality which is now Clai'ke 
county, a very active L'ishman, by the name of Cas- 
sidey. He was very small, but very strong and ac- 
tive, and in all affrays with the Indians was as deter- 
mined as the most gigantic of the settlers. On one 
occasion he was out on a camp, with two friends, 



CASSIDEY, TtTE IRISHMAN. 4^1 

and bj a sudden movement, for which the encamp- 
ment was unprepared, the Indians succeeded in kill- 
ing Cassidej's companions ; and as they were now 
three to one, Cassidey was overpowered, and tlie In- 
dians, acting out the very worst traits of their char- 
acter, proceeded to exercise their power over him. 

As Cassidey was a small man, and the Indians did 
not expect it would be much trouble to settle him, 
they determined that he should be given to the small- 
est and youngest of their number, and that he should 
proceed to carve him uj>. And this horrible purpose 
they proceeded to put into execution. Stationing 
themselves at a short distance, they diverted them- 
selves by seeing their junior grapple the prisoner. 
But Cassidey belonged to that class of men who re- 
sist to the last, and as the Indian approached with a 
large butcher knife, he seized him and flung him se- 
verely to the ground. Up rose the Indian, and at 
him again, and again Cassidey flung him over. The 
other Indians laughed heartily, and considered it rare 
sport, since they thought their comrade's ill success 
was but temporary. But when they saw that Cas- 
sidey overpowered their executioner, they, with the 
intense cowardice that is always the characteristic 
of the savage and the vulgar, (as well in our own 
times when it assumes the name of " rowdy," as 
when it bore the appellation of " Indian,") rushed on 
to poor Cassidey, and struck him to the earth with 



462 SILAS SAELAl^. 

tlieir war clubs. As he fell, Cassidej seized the 
great knife which had fallen from the savage, and, 
half stunned and bruised as he was, he sprang up 
and flashed the knife before the Indians, who, 
for the instant, hesitated ; and in that instant, Cas- 
sidey leaped out of their grasp, and made for the 
woods. It was a terrible race. Tlirough the forest, 
they — pursuers and pursued — ^i-ushed, but the white 
man was too adroit. He succeeded in plunging 
into a deep pond, and dark as it was, he caught hold 
of a tree branch wliich overhung the water, as if 
in mere curve of beauty — and yet what mortal pur- 
poses was in that bending? — and here he clung. 
Meanwhile, the Indians came up to the pond. They 
lit up torches, and with wild movement gleamed 
their red rays over the scene. Still as the grave, 
Cassidey hung. The shadows, deeper by the torches, 
held him in their obscurity, and the Indians, wea- 
ried at last, gave up the search. And this, terrible 
adventure as it was, was but one of thirty different 
Indian fights in which he was engaged, and in this 
respect only sharing the fate of those who founded 
Kentucky. 

Such incidents Harlan lived amidst. A man who 
took upon himself — not contented with the ordinary 
hazards of his lot — the dreadful perils of the post 
of a spy, had danger for his nearest companion. 
Sometimes in small incidents character will develop 



HE IS SLATN. 463 

itself. It wiL be remembered how important was 
Harrodsburgli — how many were its escapes — how of- 
ten the march of the savage was directed thither 
It might be thought that in that wild and desperate 
time, those who had resort in that country, Avonld only 
be too content to share and make stron^cer the force at 
Harrodsburgh ; but Harlan erected another station, 
seven miles distant. It was a stockade fort — the pi- 
(??i66^?'of those superb fortresses which, like the castel 
lated fort and the white blufts of St. Peters river, in 
later days, have kept at bay the slowly retreating 
tribes of the north-west. 

Harlan was all his life a soldier pioneer. JSTor 
was it reserved for him to see the Kentucky, for 
which he had fought so bravely, enter the confeder- 
acy — a great and powerful state. He did not wit- 
ness the development of the empire whose founda- 
tion he w^as laying. At that bloody battle of the Blue 
Licks, wdiere so many of the pioneers went down be- 
neath the fatal rifle of the Indian — where the homes 
of Kentucky had such fatal sorrows written in their 
annals — Harlan fell; fell at the head of his detach- 
ment, of which, as major, he was in command. 

In these sketches, the effort has been to group 
Bome of the incidents which characterized the livea 
of those pioneers who followed the bold and glorious 
movements of Daniel Boone. He was first of a no- 
ble company. He led the way, and bravely did 



464 



SILAS HAELAN. 



brave men follow — follow where every step was — as 
the old Indian chief declared to Boone — tracked in 
blood. 

And of such was the founding of Kentucky. In 
the histories of mankind, of courage — of endurance 
— of terrific peril — of persevering effort — of undying 
and unswerving love for freedom — of a land con- 
quered by the strong arm, and kept by the free prin- 
ciple — Kentucky stands, among states, preeminent. 




LIFE OF MPOLEON BONAPAETE, 

^(l^mperor of gxKntt. 

BY J. a. LOCKHART. 
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"The lightning may flash and the load thunder rattle. 
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lie was the greatest actor the world has known since the time 
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child. He rode triumphantly to power over the ruins of the thrones 
with which he strewed his pathway. Vast ai'mies melted away like 
wax t-efore him. He moved over the earth as a meteor traverses the 
eky, astonishing and startling all by the suddenness and brilliancy of 
his career. Here was his greatness. The earth will feel his power 
till its last cycle shall have been run. 



THE LIFE 

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^ixst WiiU of ll^aplMti. 

BY P. C. HEADLEY. 

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"Like the lily. 
That once was mistress of the field and flowers here, 
I'll hang my head and perish." 

Josephine, for the times in which she lived, was a model of 
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general, it will so far extend the admiration of the pure and beautiful, 
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a period of bloody Revolution. The Empress was a greater personage 
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THE LIFE 



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BY JARED SPARKS, LL. D. 

NEW AND FINE EDITION, TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 

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*' Let every mother's daughter's son 
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The materials for this volume have been drawn from a great variety 
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and also from the private papers of many of the principal leaders in the 
Revolution. The entire mass of manuscripts left by General Washing- 
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INOLUDING NOTICES OF THE MEN AND SCENES OF THE HUNGARIAN REVOLUTIOH * 
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BY P. O. HEADLEY. 

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ALL THE ARCTIC EXPEDITIONS 



ARCTIC 

EXPLORATIONS AND DISCOVERIES 

DURING THE NINETP^ENTH CENTURY. 

BKING DETAILED ACCOUNTS OF 

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Repeated, bold, and daring enterprises have been undertaken during 
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§0Aer Mms 0f i\t Wtst; 

COMrRlSING THE 

FRONTIER WARS 

OF 

PEMSYLVANIA, VIRGINIA, KENTUCKY, OHIO, INDIANA, 

AND EMBRACING THE 

INDIVIDUAL .\DVENTIJRES AMONG THE INDIANS, 

AND 

Exploits of Boone, Kenton? Clarke, fjog^an, 

AND OTHER 

BOKDER HEROES OF THE WEST 
BY PROFESSOR FROST. 

608 pp. 8vo., 300 Illustrations. Cloth $2 00. Morocco $2 50 

The wars between the early settlers on the western frontier of our 
country and its aboriginal inhabitants, form an extremely interesting 
portion of history. The long period of time through which these wara 
extend, tlie large number of actions which they embrace, the variety 
of adventures and instances of individual heroism whicli they display, 
and the magnitude and im[)ortance of the territorial acquisitions in 
which they resulted, fully entitle them to form a separate history. 

The Bolder Wars of the West, when we enter into their details, as 
gathered from the traditions received from those who Avere engaged in 
them, abound with interesting displays of human character. In them 
we may study tlie traits of the Indians, the terrible enemies of our fore- 
fathers, ancient possessors of the soil, who resisted their gradual but 
cei'tain eucroacliments, with all the violence of savage fury, and all 
the stratagems of barbarous subtiltj' and cunning. Plere, too, we may 
learn many useful lessons from the traits of character exhibited by the 
bor<ler settlers, exposed by their position to all the horrors of the mid- 
night surprise with the dreadful accompaniments of the warwhoop, 
the massacre, the burning and plundering, mutder and scalping, and 
followed by the weary sorrows of Indian caj>tivity. We can never 
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heroes and their not less heroic wives, confronted th^jiangers of 
a life on the frontier, and the activity, promptness, and determination ^ 
with which they met and punished every assault. % 

PfM lir nil Bor>1v'='^11f<:-s. ATijImI. nnif.prrijj, to nnr !ii'1rf"!=j. nnnTi r(»0(^inf- of n'-i"« 



